


Before the Beginning

by nuabo



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chaebol Things, Deaf Character, Dialogue Heavy, Everyone Loves Seonghwa, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mingi Deserves a Hug, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Tags Are Hard, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27861250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuabo/pseuds/nuabo
Summary: San wanted another chance. That was all he asked for. To let himself pretend for a little bit longer.He longed for a day with no end. Where the sun would not set, and they would not part from one another.He'd be together forever with them on that paradoxical day.(Or the one where San will do whatever it takes to keep his friends together. No matter what price must be paid.)
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Kim Hongjoong, Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

...

“CHOI SAN! TURN OFF YOUR ALARM ALREADY! YOU’LL WAKE THE DEAD.”

San groaned at the shout beyond his bedroom walls.

Too soon, the day had met the night, and the night grew in its voyage back to greet the day.

It took San another minute before he managed to put an end to the song.

His thumbs proved themselves helpful to this end; a little ray of hope.

With one last glance at the extent of his notes, San got up. The pages, annotated with a dozen or so bright stickers, had long-since grown nonsensical to him.

San hurried on with preparation for the day. He ignored how very frazzled he felt. The exhaustion hit him squarely in the chest.

He bounded around to collect his gear and secure it into his messenger bag.

The kitchen appeared daunting. The woman inside the confined space met San with a prompt huff upon his completed entry there.

“Good morning,” he greeted her. Amicably, with his dimples showcased.

Although this received no humbled response, San went about his business. He arranged dishes from the refrigerator to his liking. He heated up all the ingredients before assembling them as a unit.

The male demonstrated just how voracious he was in the savage consumption of his serving of rice and breakfast stew when he settled by the table.

There was no lack of enthusiasm on his part.

The female, who had silently observed him, became disparagement with him.

“I could hear you, you know,” she hissed at her brother. “Every page turn and cough all night. Don’t you sleep?”

“Your hearing is good,” San marvelled at her words. He slurped at his broth. He took enough liberty that his sister’s expression brewed with irascibility.

“You’re not even a full semester in and already you're like this,” she remarked. Not unkindly, but nonetheless blunt for effect.

She made no move to clean up her utensils despite her empty plate. Instead, she rested back in her chair.

Circumspect to leave.

She waited on San to reply to her with a face too ferocious for the morning.

“I wanted to completely cover everything on intercellular communication,” he evened with her. He was more distracted by how salty he had made his stew.

With a mental note to ask Seonghwa about how big of a discrepancy there was to a tablespoon versus a teaspoon for a condiment measure, San quickly finished up his meal.

The satiety down to his stomach elevated his mood to soar to the sky.

With a bright beam towards his sister, he got up and disposed of the last of the squander. The male pressed on, airy and carefree for the day.

“Noona, I can tell that you’re frowning at me,” San pointed out, from where he tended to his dishes by the stretch of the sink. “Choi Haneul, don’t frown.”

With his back to her, he could only smirk with knowing at his beginnings of a squabble with her.

The sibling protested her innocence to his accusation.

He occupied himself with the chore for a time.

His addled brain satisfied with how therapeutic it was to rinse the soap bubbles off with the warm water.

“I’m sorry,” Haneul came to offer when San turned around to face her.

Her cheeks were pink with her embarrassment.

It came as a surprise to San.

He could tell a lack of sleep burdened her too. He suspected that it had been the stress speaking rather than her before.

Haneul often vented her frustrations by projecting them to be attached to minor inconveniences over the true causes.

San couldn’t bring himself to do anything to prolong her sorrow. Her scolding forgotten by him.

“It’s okay,” San told her.

The dynamic they had in their lives cultivated him mild to Haneul’s forms of social gracing. In their predicaments as full-fledged adults, it was rocky to level with one another at points.

He had assumed the role of their own third-party mediator whenever required, with their parents gone from the environment they shared.

“You should go ahead,” Haneul recommended. She gave him a charming smile.

He presumed it came given hadn’t further instigated her unexplained aggravation.

After seeing the time, San belatedly decided he’d ask her later what was weighing her down.

“See you later,” he told her. His sunny temperament was enough to generate a giggle from the older sibling.

She gazed fondly at him; he helped lift her spirit.

San waved off his sister as he headed out to go for his bus.

The pattern of the travel route consistent for the young male.

Peachy to abide by in San’s mind, ever since he established its regularity.

The male came to drop down onto his usual bus seat; a few rows down. He settled to the spot by the window and opted to root around in his bag to reacquaint himself with the encumbrance of a bulky textbook.

With practiced ease, San resumed his review of the pages. He examined each of the figures of illustrated mechanisms. Content to follow along with the visual aids.

It felt like he had opened his book when the vehicle reached that designated stop of his. He shuffled around to gather up his bearings. The time was too short.

Quickly, he stood to his full height and departed from the bus.

It was a nice triumph for the sleepy student to know he managed to safely reach his destination. In one piece, and semi-ready for the schedule ahead.

The chatter and heat of close bodies to San by the entrance came to be magnificent and tremendous. 

Wholly insignificant to the plethora of other beings.

They passed on by him, thus rendering his insecurities to be moot.

He could perfect the art of pursuing ominous positivity; one day at a time.

The journey to his lecture hall remained uneventful. San spent the time admiring the landscape of the renowned educational institution.

Its utmost elegance was unique. The allure of the trees that blanketed the mountains enriched him with inspiration. The grace of the delicate clouds in the sky mesmerising.

San entered the spacious room early enough for him to choose a decent seat. He revelled in the sense of reward this brought him.

The male stayed watchful to the other students that followed suit to him to pick out their own places. He identified a few faces he could put names to. Curious about the reminder to the otherwise strangers to him.

San watched them as they moved around the hall with leisure.

His attention redirected by the approach of a tall figure in his peripheral.

The entity gave a grunt of acknowledgment to him. That came right before he plopped himself down close by San.

His unceremonious arrival was not uncommon.

“Gyehyeon, how lovely it is to see you,” San told him. The tired male blamed it on his jitters that he batted his eyes too keenly at the other.

“I didn’t think anybody was dirty when winking at someone until I met you,” Gyehyeon mentioned. His nose scrunched in disgust. “It’s violating.”

San shrugged benevolently, relieved to know that Gyehyeon also appeared equally worn out.

The other male was in dire need of a nap.

San judged that to how drowsy he was in trying to find a comfortable position to stretch out into.

“I have no idea how you both managed to make it here looking like zombies,” came the confession of a customary tongue.

San’s eyes drifted over to meet the gaze of the female who spoke. She was perched in the row above his own.

“Morning, Seokyoung,” he greeted her.

The girl only eyed the pair clemently. The touch of her amusement was thinly veiled in her appraisal of them.

“I hate being in a prestigious college,” Gyehyeon mumbled. His face planted staunchly on the table. “There’s no freedom to be yourself. It’s all work, all the time.”

San patted his peer’s back sympathetically, at a loss for how to comfort the dejected male. He looked to Seokyoung for a hint.

She gave an exiguous effort for her survey of the duo in their circumstance. Stuck to what else she could do.

By that point, their professor strolled in. Their coffee thermos in a death grip.

The manifestation of the dignitary brought about quite the objection from the students. They clamoured their agitation and anxiety with muffled groans.

The students scurried back to their places. Flawlessly obedient.

…

The light breeze prevented an influx of San’s perspiration. He travelled toward the dining area, soaking up the heat that came. The day’s forecast pleasant.

The sensation of the warmth was refreshing; aloe slathered on a sunburn.

The campus boasted impressive buildings. It was a diverse hub of handpicked people. The divide of the zones was a minefield to traverse for its people.

San monitored his phone screen to ensure he kept to the map’s directions. He was still a novice to hazarding around the densely packed-in location.

His friend welcomed him with a sternutation. The male stood outside the door to the meeting arrangement. San echoed the onomatopoeia of the sound.

“How did you get a cold?” San asked. He allowed the brunette a moment to clean himself up before looking for the actual answer.

There came a frenzy of dabbing at his nose with a poor, balled-up tissue paper.

The taller male was the picture of pure innocence.

San didn’t attempt to fight against the grin that appeared on his face.

“I don’t have a cold, someone must be talking about me,” the male sniffled.

San only laughed at the superstition

“How were your lectures?” San pushed to their chat.

They both made a move to head inside the bustling cafeteria. He grunted his dismay when the other seemed more occupied with trying to spy the meal options. He searched the display instead of entertaining him with a reply. His friend’s hunger a pest to put up with.

The taller male even had the audacity to lick his lips in his distracted state. He omitted any consideration to San’s confidence in conversing with him.

Without much delay, they both decided upon their preferred sets. They rang up their cards to the nearby payment machine to process the associated fee.

Tray in-hand, they gathered each dish from the accommodating staff. They ventured with their goods outside and found a table without any fuss.

“How’s Jongho doing?” San questioned after they had settled into space.

Across from him, the other male had already begun to savour his noodles. The dressing in the bowl already decorated his lips with his quick chewing.

The elder swallowed down the assigned portion before he spoke. “He has some project-based plan to finish up with his group this week. He’s been hanging about the library every day since last weekend.”

San nodded, solemn. He dipped a spoon into his rice. His eyes glossed over as he became lost in thought. He wondered what it was like to be in Jongho’s shoes. Having to outline legal parameters; to hold an abundance of forms as accountabilities.

Jongho never had difficulty formulating well-versed arguments. Not even when put on the spot to carry them out. It was natural how adaptive he was to the strength.

Born to be vocal and have his presence known: Choi Jongho.

“Are you eating your kimchi radish?” his companion interrupted the daydream. San pulled an irritated face at the record speed to the query.

“Yah, Yunho, close your mouth when you’re eating,” he reprimanded. He transferred the food to his friend. Yunho smiled his thanks. He was endearingly foolish with the show of the black bean sauce across half his face.

The handsome male was lively as he continued to devour his food.

A silence seeped into their bubble as they focused on the directive of lunch.

San’s leer effectively grounded Yunho from licking away the remnants of his. It’d been a miracle Yunho obeyed him.

“Hongjoong-hyung is having a get-together tonight,” Yunho divulged.

San concentrated on his reddish nose as he talked. His pale complexion shaped him as impuissant with the bright colour. San guessed Yunho got caught in the rain without an umbrella to develop the sickness.

It was hardly the first time he’d done so. Not that of the last time, San believed, either.

The male wanted to pretend the breaking news did not sway him. He wanted to be aloof in his reaction. Casually intrigued, without the detection of a heart aflutter.

“Oh,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair. His chin aimed up to a reputable height. “Is this an _exclusive_ event tonight?”

“'Exclusive’?” Yunho wondered. He seemed perplexed by the term. “I mean, it’s just the usual suspects. Hyung, Wooyoung, Mingi, and I for definite. Yeosang and Seonghwa-hyung are maybes, as per usual. No idea about Jongho, though. He has hyung on thin ice over what happened at the party.”

San tried to remember the events but only managed a shudder at the tendril of the memory. If he were Jongho, he would certainly want to stay as far away from Hongjoong for as long as possible. The paranoia an ugly infection to have. 

It had taken twenty or so enhanced washes for Jongho’s hair to come remotely salvable. The impact of the dye prank that had targeted him cruel, but clever.

The cost of the shampoo had Jongho close to selling his hyung’s kidney on the black market. For rightful financial compensation, the youngest clarified.

“I miss Seonghwa-hyung,” San admitted after he had relived the scenes of the chaos to the occasion. Just over two weeks had gone by since he had last caught up with the oldest within their circle of friends. He wasn’t easy to get a hold of.

The pair messaged frequently, though the reassurance of Seonghwa’s physical presence held unspeakable power. It gave comfort as no other source could. The yearning of it had San stricken with retrospection. He loathed the barriers.

Yunho concurred to this with a hum. The same male twirled his pair of wooden chopsticks around with his fingers. He showed off a surprising level of control. The action was absorbing to watch for them; anodyne, effortless.

“I still have the flowers he gave me last month,” San maundered.

He remembered the euphoria he experienced at the gift.

They had been fantastic, with a daisy shape and enchanting colour. The sunny yellow, pale pink, and soft white gerberas were amazing to behold.

Seonghwa had explained their meanings shyly. He had spent a lot of time in his research their sentiment and opting for the best florist for his purchase.

When the petals began to show signs of wilting, San was quick to press them flat. He used notebook pages to make their vibrancy eternal. He decided to keep them housed securely there, in the form of a keepsake.

On the day he had received the flowers, Yunho had been smitten with his variety of chrysanthemums. Yeosang took great pleasure in how he cradled his unique bouquet of ten peach-coloured roses. San had found that curious to consider.

San recalled how red the tips of Seonghwa’s ears became as the trio joked to him that they were « His flower boys ». The eldest looked torn between being mortified and pleased. He beamed at their authentic modelling. The males performed plenty of poses with the blossoms which Seonghwa photographed.

Seonghwa’s good deed came at the expense of the others in the group growing petulant. Jongho and Mingi had missed out on the gathering, given their choice of different universities. They waited until Seonghwa shelled out to give them a supplicated steak dinner.

The cost of the extravagance had been high enough to warrant a fraud flagging to the male’s poor credit card. At least, as were the rumours that surfaced.

Seonghwa refused to confirm or deny the claims.

The eldest did not forget to include Hongjoong and Wooyoung in his giving mood.

The high-tech speaker Hongjoong had wanted for his developing studio. A limited-edition designer pair of shoes Wooyoung had wistfully yearned for.

_“He is omniscient,” Mingi described of Seonghwa to San. He made the claim when their group had gathered. They both watched the objects being handed to the recipients. “Almighty. Test him on anything, and he will know.”_

_San had no idea whether Mingi meant his description as a threat or as a positive outlook to the proceedings. He only playfully reminded the other of how awful he was at picking out presents that Seonghwa put him to shame. Every single time._

_Mingi shrugged at that. Defeated before he could even attempt to refute._

San returned to reality when Yunho snapped his fingers at his eye level.

“We better get going,” Yunho cautioned. He did not look thrilled about having to return to his next set of lectures. 

San felt the same discouragement. He had dreamed that university would be more generous from all his work in high school. The reality was grim.

He forced himself up to prepare to head off to cram more leaden jargon into his head. He almost wished Yunho could accompany him. The older male instead due to join the ranks of the other students in accounting and finance.

San thought the field to be dismal, but Yunho accepted it without complaint. He hadn’t needed to reason why it was his obligation to become more acquainted with that sphere of the broader business sector. Yunho’s parents were extraordinarily giving, truth be told. The male clearly knew where the line was.

San supposed he was faced with the same road, just altered here and there.

The young male entered his program on a scholarship. Although his family faced no shortcoming in their earnings, San still worked to maintain he didn’t spend without an awareness of where the money would end up at. He had to work to come out as qualified in an area associated with his family’s work.

San got to have some wiggle room to decide for himself an interest in the realm of medicine, and so he maintained he’d go as far to obtain a doctorate in a university herald as valuable enough for his parents to boast of him with.

Jeong Enterprises owned a luxury chain of hotels in Asia. Yunho held a reputable role in being the first-born heir to his father’s role as the executive director.

Lives and destinies were preordained for those wealthy, San imagined.

The older male chastised San any way for his choice of study, despite it all.

San slung his bag over his shoulder, trying not to fret over the image he could be some pro-gamer over the dispirited student he really existed as.

The pair made a move to start off to their separate paths to their lectures. The heat of the sun was salubrious to their skin. They embarked on the journey.

The season seemed to be already morphing into summer.

“I’ll see you tonight, eight PM sharp, and bring snacks!” Yunho badgered San with. The brunette gave San no chance to respond to what he urged of the younger male. Instead, Yunho raced off. The glint of mischief in his eyes all San could come to pay heed to before his form was a blur of such movement.

The elder then vanished from sight before San could so much as blink twice. As he walked on, he listed off his known responsibilities to keep tabs of everything due to him. The day felt too long for him.

“San! San!”

San swore he heard his own neck make a distinct cracking noise at the speed to which he turned it to greet the voice calling him. With displeasure, he hurriedly rubbed at the spot that suffered the brunt of his impulsive move to investigate.

He cursed inwardly at his own mistake. _Prudence is a virtue._

“Don’t you have your lecture?” San enunciated his point to drive it home. He did not hamper the suspicion that had him furrow his brow with the question.

“It got cancelled!” Yunho sang, gleeful. Elated, the male practically bounced his way back to San. “I’ll join you for yours! We can finally share a class!”

San tried to coerce his friend away from following through with the ideal.

Yunho remained resolute. San had heard comparisons, since they formed their friendship, of Yunho and golden retrievers. The accuracy crystal clear in seeing the determination Yunho had to scurry at San’s heels.

The younger male had to face his palms up to the other in a gesture of surrender, to his own chagrin.

As his friend physically dragged him onward, San allowed himself to embrace the serenity their bond brought him. He’d rather entertain that idea than bemoan the feel of the gravel against the scruff of his shoes, he amended to himself.

It would have been nice if the others could join them, too.

San thought Wooyoung would get a kick out of monitoring the outfits and mannerisms of the other university students.

The caprice left San sentimental. He acknowledged how thankful he was to how Yunho’s cheerfulness at getting to share each other’s company more.

Farther than tomorrow, longer than forever. The moment being had nestled in San’s heart. The unique twinkle of Yunho’s eyes and his unbridled adrenaline.

San knew that, sooner rather than later, he’d come to miss having the chances like that. The years of being young and dumb would be over for them, especially Yunho. It made his heart constrict to consider that future. Yunho, born to conform and yield to the tangibility of a class he was better than in every front.

They’d both have to transform into hardened adults; settled down and boring. San tried to block the image out. It motivated him to laugh harder, fly higher.

“I’ll race you to the building,” San said confidently.

He knew he’d win the outcome of the sport. His friend, not the best rival to compete with. Yunho indulged him with a nod of determination.

They sprinted at the count of three. They embraced the rush as they went, exuberant. Living younger, they let the trivial go for that time.

…

The thumping bass of the music continued to play loudly. It made it difficult to differentiate from an actual heartbeat.

San sat at the edge of the small couch. He toppled over the armrest enough times to end up boxing up his frame to take up minimal space.

It was a rite of passage for him, at gatherings, to be sandwiched between his friends. To share in the pitiful capacity that housed them. The furniture withstanding their weight as a constant. It worsened as they shifted about, the springs despairing to keep their function going.

The harlequinade blessed that the working mechanism survived for the length of time as far as that point.

The condition of the space -- which bolstered itself to be the entry, living, _and_ dining room in one -- needed drastic improvement. Hongjoong was a relatively neat person, but that proved futile whenever the group came over. They acted as a hurricane, to put it in mild terms.

Had Haneul been privy to the innermost reach of the evening, San knew she’d be rendered speechless. He pictured her reaction. She’d have fake gagged upon seeing the state of Hongjoong’s accommodation. Primitive, in blatant disgust. That much would come by the foul smell of the expired refrigerated food alone.

Hongjoong forgot to toss them out. The male was not a huge fan of cooking, he excused rather dumbly. That abysmal frame of mind acted as a repellent.

The mould on the eggshells might have been a final straw.

With six of them lolling about, and with the fear of the host’s grim pantry still etched into their brains, they gave up and ordered some take-out. Yeosang and Seonghwa were due for arrival within the hour.

San occupied himself by looking over the shoulder of the youngest. The male in question busy scrolling along with articles, idle to the actions of the more hyperactive males. The material presented a nondescript to San. He poked at his friend, bored.

“Don’t hit me, hyung,” the person responded. He brushed his black hair out of his eyes. He did so to fix San with a glare sharper than a sabre’s tooth. He indicated with his thumb to the snoozing male to the left of him. “Go bother Wooyoung-hyung instead.”

“Jongho,” San sulked. The mither was defiant. “Let me have a turn, please.”

Jongho raised an eyebrow. He looked to be weighing up options for a moment, but it seemed he decided against any critical thinking. Like it wasn’t required.

San, past the point of opprobrium with the youngest, just hummed lightly.

“You have enough money to buy ten of these,” Jongho grumbled. He handed San the tablet, wistful. Too optimistic, San took to spinning the item with his index figure. He had formed a habit of it.

For a minute, it had been well and steady for him to do. Only after that duration, it went off course from its uniform motion with his applied momentum to it.

He grasped at it wildly before it could effectively hurtle itself at the wall.

The other occupants suddenly crowded into his personal space.

Wooyoung, dazed from his poor nap, rolled his eyes with confirmation San was at fault. With words unspoken, the technology plucked away from San. They dispersed and reverted to their original positions after that.

Jongho gave one of his classic long-suffering sighs. He returned to skimming over the same page he had open on the device, sparing San no single glance.

San bit back an apology. He let himself wait until the heat in his face died down before he calmly stood up and dropped down into Wooyoung’s expectant lap.

The younger boy welcomed him. He began to brush through San’s hair. The hair petting equally calming and familiar in part for them both.

Appeased given the comfort, San looked over to his other friends. They were involved in an ardent conversation. Yunho appeared to be navigating the plans for an expedition from the aura he presented. The others looked less convinced.

Challenged to listen to the tail-end of the chat, San paid careful attention. He found the subject breached by them far removed from any child-like fantasy.

“--when I came back there, I found that Byounggon-hyung and Hongjoong-hyung had both gone and snuggled up together underneath the blanket—”

“I wasn’t ‘snuggled up’ to him with _your_ blanket!” Hongjoong cut off Yunho. His voice afforded pity in Yunho’s eyes, what with how meek it rested itself as.

“I remember I thought hyung had a clone,” the other male sagely interjected.

“Mingi, just because we both happened to have the same hair colour,” Hongjoong guffawed, off-put. He yanked at a strand of silver, irritated. “Anyway, back to the point -- _nothing_ happened between us.”

San swallowed thickly.

An itch ached underneath his skin. Wooyoung halted his ministrations upon feeling San’s back stiffen, but he did not request to know what had brought the change upon the other. He seemed tuned out to Yunho, Hongjoong, and Mingi’s broadcast. San breathed in, grateful for that fact. He didn’t want to explain to his best friend his naivety crumbled like dust.

San told himself to ignore what they were saying. He couldn’t resist the temptation to eavesdrop on the airing of Hongjoong’s escapades, though.

He wished he had more strength than what he possessed to rule against himself.

“-- will you drink until you die?” Hongjoong pressed of Mingi. Parental instinct marked. Yunho snickered at Mingi, who had no clear comeback to that much.

“I am drinking my sorrows away, hyung,” Mingi whined, petulant. “I have a lot of sorrows. It will require a lot of drinking. Please, try to understand me.”

Hongjoong stopped short of himself. Conflicted. They all knew Mingi had upwards of an average tolerance for alcohol. At least, compared to them overall.

The rate at which the red-haired male drunk ill-advised by the group. Since the start of their hang-out, Mingi took no stretch of a respite between slugging the beverages' insight.

San knew the group would have to combine efforts together to work out what was getting to the other. It was uncharacteristic of Mingi to be reckless, from San’s experience with the younger male. He wouldn’t pursue getting wasted, as such, without any catalyst to drive him to that brink. Mingi couldn’t risk that.

Sourly, San cursed the parent for the hardship he placed upon Mingi. The mechanisms the younger male tested out to cope with it all easy to trace back through by his watchful friends.

San could recall, in then-vivid detail, how Mingi went as far as to trade his natural hair colour in for his current traffic-light shade of red back a few days ago. There came an emotion too unidentifiable in Mingi’s eyes that same day that made his friends swallow down any means to joke about the prominent colour.

The hair dye, not a simple decision. It held more to Mingi, more than San could come to understand. As such, he let Mingi keep that portion of himself private.

The male stubbornly hoped to overcome things alone, but San wouldn’t let him just bleed out because he thought he had to keep the wound unaddressed.

Mingi should be cherished, San knew to be true. He deserved better than to be dragged through the mud, belittled his every ambition.

San closed his eyes at the whirlwind of it. Maybe he had drunk his fill already.

When Hongjoong had worked up the courage to begin a stricter lecture Mingi, a mishap transpired for the red-haired male with his bean bag. He toppled to the ground; a flail of long limbs coupled with a squeak of surprised indignation.

His beloved glass took flight.

A share of the contains landed across Hongjoong’s torso. The older male had been too close to avoid the ruction. He captured the object before it could meet a demise.

Hongjoong realised the cruel extent of the liquid that plainly soaked through the fabric of his shirt.

The group was hushed for a fraction of a second. Then everyone, except for the shamefaced Mingi and disbelieving Hongjoong, erupted into absolute hysterics.

Hongjoong inspected his attire again. He opened and closed his mouth. Then, he simply straightened up and stormed out, in a very Hongjoong-like fashion.

With a defiant flair to his turn.

Jongho, seemingly, could not stop his outpour of bright laughter. He gripped his side. His face scarlet from the energy expended. Wooyoung fared no better. San believed he’d be a great choice to dub the role of a hyena in an animation reel.

San tried to keep afloat on the shifting sway of the younger male’s lap. He couldn’t control his own exultant convulsions. Thrilled to retain the memory.

“This is worse than the time hyung got caught with the soju on Wooyoung-hyung’s birthday,” Jongho wheezed, enjoying every aspect of the unfolding incident.

“At least his target wasn’t you this time,” Wooyoung chimed in. He winked to Jongho. Tears ran down his cheeks with the level of humour he derived from Mingi’s awkward stance.

The red-haired male stood in the middle of the room, seeming not to fully know how to digest the situation.

His friends were unhelpful, excluding Yunho. The saint-like figure offered Mingi his hand to get him up.

A few decibels above the background music level, a knock sounded at the front door. Dutifully, Yunho hurried to let the new guest inside. No one else was in any condition to get as far as to the entrance. Mingi nonpliant on the floor, and the youngest males still in stitches with their unsuppressed laughter.

They eventually smoothened their noise into soft giggling. As Yunho moved from the doorway, San saw who had arrived. He immediately shot up to greet them.

“You’re late!” Wooyoung cried out. In step with San on their approach to the esteemed male. The arrival’s eyes brightened at the sight of the pair. He smiled.

“Yeosang, you really missed the funniest thing,” Wooyoung continued. Distantly, Yunho turned off the music. Wooyoung’s voice projection probably his hint for it.

Yeosang lifted his arms out; the precursor for a hug. Impatiently, San and Wooyoung dived in to hold him tight. Greedy and fanatical, they pushed forward.

They fought to hold the quiet male closer in their arms. Meanwhile, separate from the bickering, Yunho wormed his way to join in on the Yeosang affection fest.

“Mingi, Jongho,” Wooyoung near shrilled. His voice muffled from where he had pressed against Yeosang’s clothing. “Get over here and join the cuddle already!”

The command obeyed. Mingi and Jongho fit in place in an ungainly manner to the fiasco. Their hearts were in it so that it worked to be a satisfying group hug.

San extracted himself first when Mingi suffocated the lot of them in his iron grip. He coughed out to signify the power of the hold. It went amiss with the other.

San observed the hug like that. It struck him again, as it had done earlier with Yunho.

Those subtle saved seconds of his friends. How the group was living their firsts and last moments. They had slowly changed and would continue to change. They weren’t teenagers anymore. Their youth ebbing away like the tide. Those tiny increments of doubt came to an abundance in him.

San swallowed thickly. For some umpteenth time, he reminded himself that their youth was not limited to age or a less cynical occupation type.

They were youth embodied together. He had to let himself believe that, else the ache remained.

“Yeosang!” Hongjoong’s voice practically boomed. The elder had returned, freshly dressed, and more mellow. He went straight to join in on the hug affair.

The sight overshadowed the niggling voice inside of San. It filled a void.

His thoughts smoothed out. Refined and sharpened, they normalised in celerity again. San allowed himself to invest in the frisson of excitement brought by the others. The rippling of heat from the bodies was oddly soothing to sense.

The seemingly touch-starved males broke apart after another few more seconds.

“You’re acting like I’ve returned from my enlistment,” Yeosang finally spoke up. He said the sentence honestly, without any reservations. Bemused by everyone.

Wooyoung humped at that. “We’re enlisting _together_ , don’t forget that.”

Yeosang grinned widely. A warm fondness laced his next words, “Of course.”

The next knock at the door came thunderously. A contrast to Yeosang’s gracious request to be invited in. It signalled to San one thing clearly.

“The jajangmyeon is here!” he exclaimed sweetly. Inanition vanquished.

True to that declaration, Hongjoong hurried to thank the hapless delivery driver. He dished out more food than the restaurant had ever dealt with for them.

This achievement flattered the likes of Yunho and Mingi, but left Hongjoong bewildered and guilty. He tipped the man generously, pretending he didn’t feel any ounce of humiliation.

“Did you get haejangguk?” Mingi asked. He struggled to coordinate his fingers with his chopsticks. He tried, unsuccessfully, to reach the noodles before him.

“Mingi, don’t eat yet,” San warned him. He ignored Mingi’s feeble protest.

Relaxed in his position, San settled back easily. Flanked by Yeosang and Jongho on either side of him. Hongjoong, Yunho, and Mingi put across the other side of the filled table. He added, “We have to wait for Seonghwa-hyung to arrive first.”

“You eat the soup _after_ you’ve finished drinking,” Yunho gently reminded Mingi.

“I don’t think you’re right,” Mingi argued. He weakly assessed the others for back-up. Eyes landed on Yeosang. “Yeosang, you’re the smartest of anyone I’ve _ever_ met. Tell Yunho a person can have haejangguk at any time. It’s for healing.”

Yeosang shrugged for input to the issue. The male tended to forbear from their discords. San suspected that he grew weary of how long they lasted with their squabbles.

Still, none of the entities hesitated to get up to try to claim themselves first to greet the latecomer when the knocking came.

Mingi waddled in a fashion fitting to the amount he drank.

San managed to be victorious in the proceedings. His hyung startled at the appearance of all their earnest faces before he delighted in the rapt attention.

San instantly went and clasped the eldest’s frame to his own. The scent of fresh fruit and sweet floral that he inhaled of the other like another home to him.

San pulled back a few inches and loosened his grip on the other. He lifted his hand up. Next to his temple, he spread out his fingers to swiftly glide out.

His friend nodded at the received message. He responded, « Missed you, too. »

The other occupants went ahead and hogged the older male’s attention. They gave him a hard time to keep up with all they were telling him.

It had been too long since their last catch-up as eight. They were lost to spewing out whatever.

Hongjoong battled off Wooyoung’s determined retelling of the _Mingi-accidentally-throwing-his-drink-at-one-of-us_ saga. He matched the silent male with an even « Seonghwa, let’s eat! » The lean back to his right shoulder expertly executed.

They ate noisily. The loud fretting customary with their combined selves.

When everyone had finished and discarded their messes, they ended up lounged about the span of the room. Seonghwa prevented himself from physically trying to get started sorting the mayhem of the area in its untidiness. Yeosang begged him to wait until tomorrow before tackling the disarray. The eldest complied.

Hongjoong busied himself with his laptop. He assembled his composing gear around the available length of the table. He cited inspiration had come, and he’d been in dire need to complete a section of a project a studio set him up for.

San would glance over to him occasionally. Intrigued by Hongjoong’s afflatus burst. The dark-haired male wondered what incentive had gotten him like that.

The other friends were in the middle of a deep meaningful conversation. They opened about their past impressions of one another, and the way they changed how they perceived each other since then. San, mystified, learned of insights he’d never would’ve figured to be true. Wooyoung gushed conclusively then.

Seonghwa took his go of elocution to compliment and hype up Yunho. Yunho blushed at the dialogue, enchanted.

The continuous assuage melted away San’s question of the group’s friendship. The perfect feeling of their unification. Being taken care of, and no longer alone.

Hongjoong interrupted them. More precisely, the male incidentally dissolved Mingi detail of his first encounter with Jongho. Mingi, confused, shut himself up.

Hongjoong had relented a soft sigh. He nibbled his lower lip, distressed. At the silence of the others, the male looked around the sea of faces in question. He opened a finger of his right fist and shook it from side to side twice, quizzical.

« You're upset. » Seonghwa answered. He didn’t elaborate further, knowing Hongjoong would fill them in with that much of a prompt for an explanation.

Hongjoong rubbed the back of his neck, rueful. He spent a few seconds in consideration before he let out the worry. « The company changed its mind. »

He communicated that without anger. His friends felt the emotion on his behalf. Hongjoong actively calmed down the youngest of them, dismissing the rage.

Hongjoong spread four fingers with his right fist. He lightly touched the bottom of the top of his chin twice. The fluidity of the language stinted by his regret.

« _I don't care about small things._ » San repeated Hongjoong’s words to himself.

Hongjoong hid the extent of the difficulties in his production job. Seonghwa had been the one to inform San of how burdensome the labyrinthine of freelance music collaboration really was. Hongjoong had to pick up whatever task he could off the entertainment companies, just to get by with the meagre earnings they offered for his music. He tried his best to get his name more acquainted by the likes of bigger names, Seonghwa said.

But it wasn’t a kind business for anyone.

Hongjoong kept his face down, his fingertips blasting along his laptop keys. With an exchanged glance at Seonghwa, who looked as San felt, San just let it go.

It flashed in San’s mind. The professional white-collar jobs with the government and banks. The major South Korean conglomerates. _High-class puppets._

There, Hongjoong. A high school drop-out, barely making ends meet. Desperate to keep any of his dreams buoyant in that river of reality’s indifference. He had enough pride to shove away the extended wealth of his friends. He rather starve than be a charitable cause, he blasted Yeosang before. Enervated and worn.

Seonghwa got up from his seat and approached Hongjoong. The eldest gave a significant persuading reach to have the leader of them swayed to talk in private with Seonghwa. They both nodded a quick _be right back_ to the others, serious.

“It’s not fair,” Jongho launched into. “They treat him like dirt every time. He works so hard, and he has so much talent. They abuse his goodwill all the time.”

Yeosang, from San’s view, was most struck by it. “I wish things were better. Hyung sacrificed so much to be doing what he loves. He must be so tired of it.”

San rocked back and forth in his position. Unsure of how to convey his equal annoyance to the subject of Hongjoong’s mistreatment. Words failed him.

“Hyung will have a breakthrough soon,” a voice broke through the haze of San’s mind. He looked over to Wooyoung, who gave him a timid smile. Bashful to the clichéd words. “The beginning is just half-way, you know. He’s in his own way.”

The group sat in silence until Hongjoong peeped back inside to assess them. Like they were mischievous children, he tiled his head in reading their expressions. “Seonghwa is going to stay over. He thinks the weather means everyone should. If anyone needs to borrow night clothes, you’ve left plenty behind already.”

Most accepted this plan. The red-haired build off to the side swung to attention.

“I need to go home to sleep,” Mingi disagreed with the proposal.

The minor tantrum did not dissuade the Hongjoong. “Mingi, you are not going anywhere tonight. Listen, everyone is already staying over. Please.”

“I’m not staying over,” Jongho piped up. Eyebrows raised high at that very presumption of him. “Hyung, I know you possess more hydrogen peroxide somewhere.”

“Jongho’s staying over,” Hongjoong insisted. “It’s too cold and blustery outside for anyone to head off. Plus, my place is nearest to everywhere.”

Jongho gave up with that. He knew better than to fight. The group eventually came to hanker to sprawl out for slumber, the morning sun not far from making its presence known by the time they drifted off to sleep.

San could not figure out how to slip into unconsciousness. He moved out from underneath the hold of Yunho, who had clutched at his shoulders. Soft like the teddy bear he was.

With great effort, San moved carefully toward Hongjoong’s bedroom. The older male lit up by his laptop screen, the blue-light bright.

“Hyung,” San whispered, afraid to break through the quiet of Hongjoong’s work.

Hongjoong recognised his voice. He pulled out his headphones from his laptop. It seemed he elected to change the beat progression, given the flow of music that came out from the speakers. The older male hadn’t verified the volume to be appropriate outside of his headphones. San flinched from the noise, alarmed.

Hongjoong mouthed an apology to him. Prone to being clumsy in that way.

Before losing his focus altogether, Hongjoong had then re-doubled his efforts in fiddling around with the measure of the song with the sound level lowered. The pitch of Jongho’s voice came through from the melody, strong and resilient.

Hongjoong’s concentration was cogent in its credibility. He assuredly had a gift in how trained he was with editing. The line of his nose, the smoulder of his eyes.

It made it impossible for San to neutralise his very much entangled emotions.

It had been a few weeks ago Hongjoong got San and Jongho to record guides for some demos. He appreciated their voices to suit the mood of a certain piece.

_“Please perform on the song Jongho, you have incredible vocals. I would be lucky to have them,” Hongjoong admitted. He gave the male desperate eyes._

_Jongho tried to mask his anxiety with an awkward laugh. “I can’t sing well, hyung.”_

_“You can’t sing well, you can sing perfectly,” Hongjoong expounded on the point._

_San wondered if Hongjoong felt that way of him, too. He didn’t ask, just in case._

“Are you okay, hyung?” San found himself asking. Suddenly anxious to know.

Hongjoong dared not to vocalise his thoughts. He looked so small, surrounded by the shadows of the cramped bedroom. San heard of it before. Second-class citizens who had fewer opportunities for employment. No hope for the improvement of their socioeconomic position. Prospects for a marriage gone.

“You should sleep, San,” Hongjoong told him. Unable to meet the other’s eyes.

San, deflated, took the cue to go away. He slowed himself to his re-entry into the room brimmed with his resting friends. He hated the sting that came to him.

He wanted to be let in to know Hongjoong’s true self. No permissions, hesitations. He wanted much more than what was of them. He felt powerless.

San observed Seonghwa’s form. The male was wide awake. That surprised San, to see those eyes examine attentively. 

As if he were waiting for him. San put the puzzle pieces in place.

 _No._ San brushed it off. He remembered back to earlier, where Yeosang gave Seonghwa a chaste kiss. The ‘goodnight’ held to the exchange. _Yeosang must have had a nightmare. He’s awake for that. He must look out for Yeosang._ _It’s never for you._

Yet, Yeosang was cradled by Wooyoung and Mingi across the way. Sound asleep.

Even with San’s refusal, Seonghwa smiled at him. The eldest male played with his dragon plush doll. The green eyes were massive and bewitching. The creature adorable, with no argument to be had in that regard. Seonghwa took to giving them flight. Happily, he let Toothless soar above at an easy pace.

San put himself to lull into that quiet blanket unspoken between them. The light cast over their faces. The wisdom and intuition of the moon present there. He felt the motif of perfection with the outlined presence of his friends for that end.

He found himself saddled up by Seonghwa next. Seonghwa, who had not dropped his smile once. If anything, he seemed elated to have San join him.

The security let San feel blissful. Complete.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this fic previously uploaded (under a different username, account shenanigans and whatnot), and I spent a long time debating over what to do with it. I've since outlined the plan for the complete story and found myself writing more, that I decided to edit the previously published chapters and reupload the fic with a new title and summary. I lost count of my self-directed pep talks for this, as I had many close calls with outright deleting it because I felt it wasn't worth anyone's time to read. The process of writing this story and the characters meant a lot to me that I wanted to also return it online for anyone who might have been following the story, too. I was extremely grateful for all the support it received and felt guilty when I simply upped and left it in the way I did, I apologise for that. I wish I had more courage to trust that so long as I got one positive response, that was significant enough to keep writing. So, with that, thank you for reading. It means the world to me, and I hope you stay tuned. :)
> 
> Love and hugs. x


	2. Chapter 2

…

THE SUNSET PAINTED THE DOMAIN LIKE AN EMPYREAN.

San might have appreciated the scenery had he not been otherwise engrossed. The game he was part of stretched on.

He did an irredeemably terrible job at using his cards.

Luck failed to be on San’s side. It left him without a potent handful at every chance supplied to him.

The playing was cruel to handle. The granted stakes were high. The tremendous pressure exerted upon him was heavy. There were no second chances.

_Life hangs on the difference of one kkeut._

The male by his side snorted. “You’re looking very defeated. Again.”

San dropped his head down. He confirmed the other’s point. “I can’t go on.”

 _3,8 kwung ddaeng._ _1,3 kwung ddaeng. 1,8 kwung ddaeng. This must be rigged._

“Changbin, what ice cream do you want?” came the girl’s voice.

“Almond Bon Bon,” Changbin asserted, still pokerfaced. “What about you, Jiwoo?”

Jiwoo giggled when San grunted his disapproval at the exchange. She sounded far too gleeful. “I think that the Shooting Star sounds good today. What will you have, Jungeun?”

Jungeun shrugged. Her focus was on her cards. “I’m okay with having just chocolate.”

“You didn’t ask me what ice cream I want,” San said to nobody after a few seconds elapsed. The torment of his loss worsened as he had yet to so much as technically reveal his cards. The game was not over.

He supposed he did not really need to. They already knew how futile that was.

“Mint chocolate chip?” Jiwoo guessed, generous enough to pity him.

San gave a nod of confirmation. He relaxed his tensed shoulders, gratified.

When his official loss resonated throughout the room, the group went ahead to clean up the area and quietly stepped out into the main confinement of the facility.

The main library that greeted them was stupefying. The equivalent of a village population studied in varied states of attentiveness. 

The outside breeze came as refreshing for San upon their exit from the building. He fell in step with Changbin, who soon opened up about how he almost ended up studying abroad over attending their university. 

San felt for the other. He’d been lucky Haneul had snubbed any talk of him sailing off.

Notorious to protect him and keep him by her side, she had gone as far as to have him live with her for the duration of his college years. His parents hadn’t been in any way unkind to recommend he leave South Korea for a time. Their affluent peers influenced them for every one of their wrongdoings in the past. 

Despite himself, San wished his birthplace was closer. He hadn’t seen his grandparents in months, not since last Chuseok.

The bustle of Seoul something far removed from himself entirely. The days of him and Haneul playing in the fields seemed like only yesterday.

As they continued to walk, San found it easy to converse with Changbin. He listened and joked with a pleasant air to him, frivolous and straight-forward.

 _I see why Wooyoung and he are close._ San acknowledged, happy with that information. Wooyoung, while charming and sociable, had contention in forming friendships.

It had taken San and Wooyoung weeks before the younger male spoke more than one-worded answers to effectively end what conversation San began with him. 

Wooyoung prospered in his hospitability since that time. It was obvious to San that the given male would never let go completely of a protective enclosure.

It would be enough to get some form of contact with him, outside of those gates.

At the establishment, Jiwoo dove straight into ordering for everyone. Jungeun directed herself to sensibly locate the group at a table.

The degree of spontaneity the meet-up had necessitated of San had been something he was unclear of working through.

As he dug into his ice cream, he was glad he followed through with it. The personalities of the others were unlike his own. That suited him.

Although his nerves gave internal warfare, San communicated sincerely with the group. He had intuitive respect for their expressed sensitivity and depth.

“Your scholarship must be hard on you,” Jungeun stated at one point. She observed San politely, though tactful. He anticipated the discussion point would come up.

San hadn’t clarified their incomes with them. He had no intention to request to know.

“It’s because of my sister I try to push myself so hard,” he said. “Not to say I’m not grateful to my parents and aware I’m very lucky to be privileged. My noona helped me be more goal orientated. She made me forget the bigger implications of my family reputation, you know. I felt like I was just me -- _San_. You know, without the family name attached.”

San didn’t know how the words came sententiously. He exposed more than he had meant to. He had no control of the verbal flux; everything came out rather entangled.

When he finished, he noted that Jungeun and Jiwoo were intrigued by the response.

“There's Mountain Seoraksan, Mountain Hallasan, and Mountain Choi,” Changbin hummed.

Jiwoo belatedly chuckled to save face for him when the joke was met with silence.

The group talked for another while before they finished the last of their treats and said their goodbyes.

Home-bound, San’s steps were light. The May evening beautiful to him.

_That echo of his friend. “Look, up there. There’s Regulus, the heart of the Lion. The little king.” In the night sky, San had watched the majestic splendour of the bright point._

_The brilliant blue-white, ever conspicuous in the arrival of spring._ _The outline of Yeosang against the night sky was exactitude._

San took out his phone as he walked. The number he dialled played a velvety ringtone, the choice anticipated for the person who had registered the number.

“Hello,” the friend greeted, lenient. “How’s my best friend doing tonight?”

“He’s just missing his Wooyoung-ie,” San responded. Rather predictably, at that.

Wooyoung giggled back to the corniness of the male. Spineless, he retorted with an unkind edge, “Oh well, too bad. I hear _his_ Wooyoung is too busy to listen to him right now.”

“Don’t hang-up,” San fussed. He could tell Wooyoung would be tempted to. If only to get a rise out of San, because the male knew well how to pester him.

“Fine, fine,” Wooyoung touted. “How’s Changbin doing? He never texts back.”

“He seems to be doing well,” San answered. He navigated the strip of the road down to the looming Seoul apartments. The streetlights guided him. “He’s a really nice person. His college friends were very cool, too. They’re a good bunch, I think.”

Wooyoung hummed at that. He seemed a little less invested in the update as San talked more.

His friend automatically recognised the odd reaction. It had now become Wooyoung’s most common response.

Since San and the others of their circle entered university, Wooyoung demonstrated something San couldn’t pick apart as a feeling. Not yearning nor dissatisfaction.

Not quite sadness, but something almost vengeful and unfulfilled.

Wooyoung did not seek out a means to attend university. San never knew why. He allowed himself to shove that desire to understand die off, but sometimes it felt like the smoke of that flame hadn’t abated.

That had a newfound purpose in the draw of Wooyoung’s quiet but disarming thrum.

Hongjoong, in a similar manner to Wooyoung, also had not enrolled in any form of higher education. The older male did, however, pledge of himself to a career long before the others of the gang.

Wooyoung never spoke of his future. That rested a closed case. The male hadn’t even opened of his past prior to meeting San and the others.

San, not for the first time, wished he knew of the boy’s feelings and hopes. Like a stranger, he did not.

“How was work?” San asked Wooyoung. He diverted the topic from college in hopes he could reclaim Wooyoung’s initial felicity.

“It’s good, not many customers have been in,” Wooyoung replied. But, his tone was tight.

San looked to the ground, troubled. He clearly hadn’t reached through to the other.

“Wooyoung,” he pressed, incessant to retain favour, “you know I’m here for you, right?”

His friend didn’t give an immediate response. After a few beats, he spoke through to San with falsified conviction. San knew the layered dimension to the words he gave out well enough. “Of course, I do. Don’t worry. I’m just tired tonight, San-ie.”

San bid his friend goodbye. He buried the whisper of his regret in that time and space.

With a halt to his front door, he sent Seonghwa a message to alert him of his consequential actions. _Please take care of him, hyung. Thank you._

San nearly jumped out of his skin when he took in his surroundings after he unlocked the front door.

His sister sat on one of the steps of the staircase.

Her long dark hair hid her face from view. That, and her awkward posture stood out. It spooked him worse than the quasi-oceanic demigod from a horror film that Yeosang had the group watch before.

“I prepared tea,” Haneul told him. Her voice was devoid of esteem.

It took with it the last of San’s pleasant mood. The genial air changed for him.

Without further discussion, the siblings entered their kitchen. Haneul served up the aforenoted drink. The steam rose from San’s mug, the leaves wilted in the boiling water.

San wanted to be able to tell what they meant once the liquid was removed. To read his fortune and know of the extremities soon applicable to him.

Haneul regained his attention. She licked at her lips, and gave in to telling him the matter bothering her, “San, there’s been a few issues with the business…”

“What do you mean?” San asked. He tried to mull over what his sister was alluding to. Nothing immediately came to mind. All his life, their family lived comfortably. Not one blot across that canvas to their peace of mind as such.

His sister sighed. It seemed to release some fraction of her clear distress.

The build-up to that point bounced about in the scope of San’s memory. _Oh._

 _That’s been what’s getting to her._ His awareness subsumed to self-condemnation.

Haneul broke her eye contact with her brother. Visage vacant, she continued, “I mean, there were a few plans that have since fallen through for the main site. It normally wouldn’t be a concern, but the failings caused serious issues. The type Choi Medical has not had to deal with in its history.”

San felt his stomach churn at the phrasing. “What does that mean for us?”

“We’ll be okay. I need to take extra shifts at work, just, so I won’t be around as often. You’ll have to look after yourself more,” Haneul reassured.

Her inspirit failed to brighten her guilty features. “Please be mindful of your scholarship, San. That’s all I ask. It’s good that you have it, with everything now. It’s super important to make sure you keep your head down, for our parents especially.”

“When can we see them?” San asked. The pair had a tradition of weekly visits.

His sister’s eyes flashed for a second. The tension in her shoulders more obvious as she weighed up her answer. “They’re re-locating to the North American headquarters until the situation blows over. The press here… They won’t take some of the submitted lawsuits lightly. It’ll be a field-day for them. Our parents are better off outside of the country for a little while. Thank goodness they don’t know our faces to try and harass us for photographs or interviews, seriously.”

“'Lawsuits’?” San repeated. The male stunned at the given plural. “What? What happened?” He felt the anxiety triple in his gut.

“It was a health and safety freak accident,” his sister summarised. “A defect in machinery… It seemed almost like an impossible turn of events. That type of bad luck, really. No one could’ve seen it happening to us.”

The final sentence scorched to the bone for San. He became torpid. The cogs of his mind unable to function adequately, coming to a grinding halt altogether.

“What about college for you?” he eventually asked. The night outside deepened.

The development would uproot all they had for themselves, San knew. Haneul spent time on research in the college laboratory. Supervised by her professor separate to her postgraduate studies. She only retained a few hours to aid a group of undergraduates.

“I’ll just have to balance my time better,” Haneul decided. “We both took our lifestyle for granted, try as we might not to. It’s time we are more mature and know what it’s like to live where the money isn’t free to us. This is all just precautionary, though. Nothing will ever come of a change to you, San, I promise. Everything is going to be fine, just look after yourself. I’ll do the rest.”

San couldn’t help himself but grow antsy to the comfort.

He asked Haneul, then, of what would become of their parents.

His sister let the query hang over them both in the silence. The tea had gone cold.

She moved to pull her brother into a hug. The gentle touch felt like it poked against invisible bruises on San’s skin for its overwrought carry of things unsaid.

San would reflect on it all later. How Haneul had tried to let him know more about the embrace’s worth.

How she kept him in the considerate hold for the longest stretch of time he’d ever been hugged by her. The actuality was abstruse to them.

San eventually shuffled off to his bedroom. Restless, he paced the floor. He reminisced about his last encounter with his parents. His mother doted over his dimples. His father beamed brilliantly at the overview of his studies. He perspicaciously filled them in on his life, peaceful.

 _They hid it from you._ San let the voice sneak through his rationale.

He wanted to cry. He came close to outright snapping, letting himself lose that control. To rip his belongings to shreds. To vent out all the visceral stirrings of how unfair his fate was, to come to the crossroads of doubts and hopes.

Either way for his family meant suffering: To be separated but safe, else be together and unsafe. No real choice to be had for them.

San wanted to yell at the sky. To roar and fight against his adversaries.

He brought himself down levels to think. He opened his phone to call the person to anchor him. The desire to hear that voice colossal inside to him.

Something halted him. Pellucid and disappointed, he re-evaluated things as they stood. Only then did he find the contact to call.

“Hyung,” he whispered into the device when the call went through. “Hyung.”

“San?” the receiver questioned. Puzzled at San’s summoning. “Are you okay? Has something happened? Are you safe? Tell me that you’re safe, San. Please, okay?”

“I’m safe,” San confirmed. The tears clawed at his throat. “I just wanted to talk to you, hyung. To keep me from doing something stupid. I’m not myself now… I’m scared.”

He couldn’t place why he capitulated those private inclinations to the older male.

Looking at different places, they had never been as disconnected like that. San wanted him to be there. To be his strength. He wanted to see him, to hear him. To be with him.

“You’re not alone,” the other male vowed. “I’m here, San. You don’t be afraid; you can leave it to me.” Every word had more conviction than San expected. It kept him from sinking.

San fought back crying any further. It came into his uneasy heart: He’d be okay.

“Thank you, Joong-hyung. I’m sorry to bother you. It’s really late already.”

Hongjoong sounded in disagreement. “Don’t worry about the time.” The older male paused to adjust the phone to his ear better. A minor tussle with its given placement. San heard him more audibly. “Do you want to talk about your day? If you’re comfortable, that is?"

San closed his eyes. He could see Hongjoong like that. A wonted feeling grew.

“Yes,” San said. He tried to not think too hard. Gave in. “Today started with…”

…

San’s routine underwent revision in the passing days. He saw his sister less, their exchanges lessened conspicuously.

He detested hanging around their home without her there.

Consumed by the exigencies of her role as the eldest, Haneul took it upon herself to have at least five containers of her cooking, at any given time, in their refrigerator. The array of vegetables and meats stacked up for spruced storage.

San recognised he had a healthy appetite. The excess of the hoarded meals very much suggested he was more of a glutton than anything else. Haneul seemed to think if she left the refrigerator with any gap between shelves, he’d starve.

San quickly learned he didn’t even miss having served up the dishes, piping hot. He had expected that would be an adjustment.

It came to be that he missed her.

Eating together had been a centrepiece for conversations. That communal way of sharing the plates a hub to the flexible barter of disclosures and advice.

Haneul left the house earlier than him. She arrived late, and citied that she had packed her dinner to eat in the cafeteria when San asked if she was hungry. 

San switched up to hanging out with Yunho and Yeosang more frequently. He loitered around his college campus when they were busy. Outside of his direct module face-to-face requirements, San remained in the library. He reheated the food Haneul made whenever his stomach gurgled to signify his avoided hunger needed attention.

He spent next to no time at home. The thick walls felt like they closed in on him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep up the pretence of everything being all well and good.

His parents had reached out to him to apologise and soothe him, but San did not feel any less detached.

He went through the motions of life, doing what he had to and keeping himself focused.

Three weeks had gone by for San. He had to do better, he mused. For Haneul.

“If you stab harder with your chopsticks, I’m pretty sure the cow will die another death,” Jongho’s voice brought San back to his present setting. “Poor cow.”

San realigned his utensils upon the tabletop, embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”

The friends ate at the cosy barbeque place. Jongho had pushed them to go. The younger male dedicated to the comfort the portions gave.

Jongho possessed beseeching eyes that probed deep as they looked at San.

His chiselled features and muscular frame shaped him as a prime detective. Wasted in becoming a lawyer.

San tried to wear a sombre countenance. Ingrained in the psyche to not hint of anything that would drag his friend down with him. Jongho dealt with enough.

“Hyung, I brought you out for you to talk to me,” Jongho told him. San clocked it but knew Jongho cleverly left out the part of San paying for the bill. The dark-haired male didn’t lift his gaze from the elder, firm. “Please, don’t shut me out. I’m here for you, hyung.”

San wanted to laugh. He’d been that obvious, it seemed. Pulling the others into his worries and pain.

“I see you’re over-thinking,” Jongho grumbled. The youngest pushed aside his plate to lean over and rest his elbow down. He placed his head down to his opened hand like that, lips twisted into a pout. “That’s a dangerous thing to do. Your brain might implode.”

San extended a sardonic frown to that pettiness. He knew that Jongho’s tactic, to provoke him into spilling out an inference to his silent disposition, was well-intended.

Jongho maintained a type of quiet loyalty. All mobility over verbality for his part.

“If you keep this up, I’m going to have to pick Yeosang-hyung as my favourite.” The sarcasm slipped from Jongho’s lips like syrup. San cracked a smile at that. “I’m already the touchy one in that relationship. Imagine me having to amp it up to compensate for your cold shoulder! The mortification for Yeosang-hyung. He’d really suffer, think about it.”

“That would be a problem,” San equalised with Jongho. Curious to picture what the new dynamic would mean for his friends if Jongho forced Yeosang to take up San’s reciprocal nature. A spark came alive in him, “So, does that mean I _am_ your favourite hyung? Not Wooyoung? Not any of the others, even Mingi?”

San feigned an absence of cockiness. He likened himself to having won a presidential election. Winning over Jongho’s favour, to him, equal as a reward.

Jongho gasped. “I don’t have a favourite hyung, hyung. You’re all equal to me.”

The clarification came like a prick to a balloon. San should’ve been wiser to the ostensible culprit. The older male slumped in on himself. Jongho’s acting skills had improved.

“You just said you’d pick Yeosang as your favourite,” San huffed back. He falsified being wounded by the blatant favouritism. 

“What really counts is I’m the best being the youngest,” Jongho brushed aside. Unfazed by San’s well-executed kicked puppy expression. “There’s no real comparison needed. Strong and handsome as I am. How did you get so lucky to befriend me? After that stage of inflation, this universe cooled down and created me. The best clump of matter there could be, really. Truly magnificently done.”

“You’re hanging out with Yeosang too much,” San remarked. “How many times did he make you watch that documentary about the beginning of the universe?”

“Four, if you include the time that I slept through it the second time,” Jongho answered.

He said as much through a mouthful of meat, chewing down happily.

When San prepared to provide insight to his own view of the exulting non-fictional motion-picture, his ringtone began to play.

Compelled to the alert, he answered the call with mild confusion. The caller ID listed unknown to him.

“Hello?” he started. “Who is this?” The question caught Jongho’s attention, who pointedly raised an eyebrow.

“Is this Choi San?” the punctilious stranger inquired. They came across as courteous.

“Yes,” San managed. He sounded unsure of himself.

He cleared his throat, feeling faint with the sheer anxiety at what he needed to be on call for. He prayed no emergency transpired, trying to shake away the possibility. He tried in with the royal decorum sound of the other, “Who is this?”

“My name is Cho Hyunyoung,” the person formally introduced themself. “I am calling you, as a representative of the LR entertainment company. Your fellow acquaintance, Kim Hongjoong, has been working with us for several months. He has forwarded to our team some music tracks. For legal purposes, he disclosed your consented involvement in the guide for these demos. Our resident producer was impressed by your vocal ability. We would like to extend an invitation to audition to be a part of our company, as a vocalist.”

The words conglomerated the longer San listened to the female.

It was Jongho’s jab that snapped him awake from his reverie. San blinked, impulsive to give a reply. “What about Jongho? Choi Jongho? About his vocals? Did you hear him, too?”

The woman had the decency to laugh at his drivel, all good-naturedly. “Choi Jongho is next on my list to contact, please don’t worry. Mr. Kim already explained that you were both his friends. I assure you we are in a position to offer both you and that Mr. Choi an opportunity to train under the music label.”

Jongho looked like a deer in headlights at San’s utterance of his name.

“Thank you,” San told Hyunyoung. The formality tasted weird on his tongue. “I greatly appreciate the time you have taken to contact me. I am very humbled you feel that way about my limited skills in singing. The thing is, I actually—”

“—We have left our appropriate contact details with Mr. Kim and sent on our PR newsletter, for prospective trainees, to the email he provided of you,” the female broke off San’s blunt refusal to her proposal. Not to be trifled with, she seemed to be on a mission. San could only hear her speech, unable to find the strength to try speaking for himself again. “We recommend you do check out all the perks and potential LR has for you. We await to hear from you, Mr. Choi. Thank you.”

San listened to the silence for a few seconds when the call adjourned.

His mind, a blank slate, did not comprehend anything that had been put to light for him.

“What about _my_ vocals?” Jongho was bothered by him. Disgruntled at San’s name drop of him, San suspected, in the private phone conversation. “Who’s asking? Hyung, tell me!”

“You’ll be getting the same robot feeding. You this, you that. It was someone trying to recruit to their lousy idol company,” San muttered. Reticent about the whole affair.

The older male rubbed at his temples. He sensed the onset of a headache.

“What, it was a spam call?” Jongho wondered. “They still do those?”

“No,” San corrected the younger’s understanding of it. He looked at the now-empty grill in front of him, faintly speaking. “It was someone from LR. Hongjoong-hyung sent on the samples with our vocals intact, and whoever oversaw whatever department there must’ve liked them to seek us out. They want me to audition. To be a singer there.”

Jongho went through a mixture of emotions when San finished.

The interest changed into shock, then it became fascination. It finalised as shining rejoice.

“The _LR_ Entertainment? The _largest_ entertainment company in South Korea?”

“I’d say it was a scam if she hadn’t brought up hyung,” San said. He hoped Jongho would simmer down from his excitement. The younger male was hyper; alive with optimism.

“I’m going to be personally contacted by LR. Wow,” Jongho squealed. Mystified, he tapped on his phone screen with unmovable resolve.

“Jongho,” San began, confused. “You know we can’t audition, don’t you?” The reaction of the younger male seemed so out of place from what he expected.

Jongho schooled his hurt before San could witness it for long.

“What do you mean, why can’t we?” he persisted, earnest.

San’s heart ached.

“Because we’re in university now,” he reasoned. “We have those paths before us. The idea of being a singer, an idol, an actor – whatever it is they suppose of us, from what hyung proffered of us… Is ridiculous. _Jongho_. We’re not children. We can’t have those dreams.”

Jongho didn’t mask the affliction San’s assessment gave. “What, you think it’s pointless to want to see what could be out there? Hyung, neither you nor I ever imagined this was in the realm of possibility! Can’t you just be excited for us? To think of the dreams we had before, of following our hearts and being ourselves? Hyung, what happened to you?”

San fought down the memories Jongho triggered of him. Those lost hours he took to perfecting in his angles and coordination when he danced. That carefully harnessed control of his body to follow to the beat of the music. How the secret hobby once brought him a unique power. The execution of the different choreographies fulfilled him.

He never tired, never wanted to stop. San loved it before.

He shook his head, unable to maintain eye contact with Jongho. “No.”

He had made to finish off the last of his water. He then set his glass down with a thud. He swore that the ice cubes were mocking him with their listless shake.

San decided it was time for him to go home. To a vacant one, at that.

On top of that grief, Wooyoung and San hadn’t spoken much. Nothing beyond short and simple messages.

San knew why he had stepped back. He hadn’t wanted to breach to Wooyoung about his family’s financial schisms.

He had no clue as to why _Wooyoung_ kept away.

They had disagreements and rifts in their friendship over the years, of course. It never had amounted to more than a few days of radio silence between them.

A week of flimsy burble. Prattle about trivial things. Days between responses.

The memories San had of those trying times hadn’t felt that final.

He couldn’t figure out anything else that fit logically to Wooyoung skirting around him. They were too close to be so distant, San once believed.

He thought Wooyoung would count on him. Only, he then faced it the younger _hadn’t_.

He missed him. Wanted the other male to stay by his side.

Their different worlds of living etiolated for that as a sacrifice.

All of a sudden, the tracks Hongjoong utilised him for morphed in his head as a travesty that San wanted to efface.

He hadn’t destined himself for the glory of fame upon his high school graduation.

San teased out the prospect long ago, but that had been just skimming along banks of his creative imagination. He knew he needed a disciplined, sensible life.

There might be an exact copy of him, San speculated. In a braneworld. Skipping over his view of selfhood, San thought there could be a version of himself yet separate from him.

With a hug, San and Jongho obstinately separated. The elder at fault for not staying longer.

Not ready to open that door through time, even if accompanied by Jongho. San promised he’d text the younger male later.

Outside of the stuffy restaurant, he trudged on. His legs felt stiff. The drizzle of rain cold. The spiked humidity entrapped him grimly.

San kept hoping that the end of spring would bring good weather. It seemed unnaturally misty; his clothes already sodden.

San headed straight to his bedroom when he reached the location of his place. He hurried to settle next to his desk. He knew he ought to change out of the wet fabric he wore and hop into a hot shower.

Against better judgment, San booted up his laptop. He easily breezed through inputting his login details. His home screen shone effulgent against the darkness of his room.

Not deterred by that, San opened his mailbox with a bout of nerves.

He registered the new email fast. The ‘lr_official@lrent.com’ sender sent a shiver down his spine. San clicked ahead to read the contents of the neat message.

The information presented concise and orderly. The titled attachments were tractable.

San exited off the window after he had re-read over the details. On a whim, he searched through his numerable computer files. He landed on the one he had racked up a receptivity for. The ‘hongjoong_1.mp3’ held more weight to interact with than San had prophesied it would.

His mouse seemed meek. It felt heavy. The name of the file intimidating for San on reflex. He forced himself to click it.

The simple strokes and hypnotic, incantatory rhythm of the piece played. It gave an entrenched mystery; foreboding. San and Jongho harmonised for that climax. They were an ideal pair. The delicacy of their ending notes gave the piece vulnerability.

Hongjoong had sent San the incomplete song, along with a few others. The older male highlighted he experimented with the atmosphere of the works. Back then, Hongjoong failed to go on to tell San what his end goal was with the music in relation to its mood.

The dysphoria San heard from the song self-explanatory. He returned to the music player and repeated the draft. Over and over. As he listened to it, he felt increasingly cornered. It gradually segued him to mindlessness.

A low rumble came to San. It took the form of his own inner monologue. He tried to refrain from unleashing the flood it endangered him with. He failed to hold back those waters. _Your presidential scholarship is matriculated at Seoul National University. The university’s name-value alone translates into wages which are 12% higher, on average, than that of any other Korean university._

Coruscating were the faces of his family members. They cropped up with the thoughts he had. The words cadenced mechanically in his mind, without an end.

_San took to that brilliant but eccentric plane of make-believe. He performed on stage there. The incandescent shower of lights christened him new. With the others, he bowed to the audience. The cheers and energy enriched him. Perfect. They were stars, there._

_Something had upset the balance of the world. He remembered it. “When we wound up in the shore of our subconscious, we lost sight of what was real.” San tried to peer over his shoulder to the figure who spoke the strange, cruel words. He did not know who they were. He only knew they did not belong there._

_The picturesque sky, seasonal flowers, and dense trees passed him by. Rowdily, he tried to take back hold of the vision. The timeslip dizzying and dazzlingly. Too much, too much…_

San awoke. His face planted on the chilled surface of his desk, where drool coated his chin unpleasantly.

He soon checked the time on his phone. It alerted him he could return to capture more hours of sleep. The day had not yet passed into its dawn. Bleary-eyed, San cared not to go to his bed to rest.

Yunho would chide him for giving himself a cold. San knew he had that hypocrite card at his disposal. It would be justified for the older male to nag at San’s idiocy.

He yawned drowsily. To go on forever with them, he figured. That was a dream.

Those seven people remained in the space between sleep and wakefulness for San.

A place where he remembered them most vividly.

He always waited there.

…

“The fish followed the prettiest fish.” His friend ended his rather extravagant description by. A blush spread over the bridge of his nose. His visuals were delicate in the light.

Yeosang had been more readily transparent to recounting aspects of his life. University had been an impetus to bringing the friends closer, as San got to spend more time with Yeosang. They uncovered more fine points of one another.

 _If you want to trust somebody, you need to give them a reason to trust you first._ San’s mother had once told him. She meant for the advice to be attached to the business-savvy sense.

San believed it held merit to applicable for friendship, too. He let the specifics of himself be that of dehiscent fruits.

Nature’s canvas had brought colours of soft blue and greens in the park. San lazily rested upon the shared blanket. He took up most of the sectioned cover. 

“My aunt told me she had my conception dream,” he drawled out. Eyes closed as the glare of the sunlight heightened for that afternoon. “I was a shining star.”

“That’s very sweet,” Yeosang commented.

Without much deliberation, the older male inched his frame to rest next to him.

San pondered the foretell of his existence, his inception. Whether that celestial body, that his relative had dreamt of, ought to be interpreted as destiny. The face of heaven.

San grew crestfallen at that. He fancied that preservation of the imagery. It invested into him a new ambition. To make those people fall in love with night. It was romantic. 

Only, all that Jongho said to him echoed in his mind. San’s pensiveness was obdurate.

“It’s a shame you didn’t become an Olympic swimmer,” San berated his friend.

Yeosang granted a reaction that bordered on being a voiceless bilabial trill. He rolled over to his side, faced away from San. Childishly, he sulked, “I should’ve gone to KAIST.”

“What, and spend your free time without me?” San dared of him. The younger male shifted. He opened his eyes to check Yeosang over. “That would be very, very boring, Yeosang-ie.”

Yeosang scoffed back. He cushioned his face to rest upon his open palm. His other arm wrapped around his waist.

“If you sleep three hours each night, you may get into a SKY university. If you sleep four hours each night, you may get into another university. If you sleep five or more hours each night, in that final year of high school, you should forget about getting into any university at all.” Yeosang recited wisdom. The certainty was strong to his words.

When San went to return to his own state of rest, he spotted a far-off figure approaching them.

He swiftly reached them at the half-way point of their distance. Flung his arm out to hold onto them. 

Seonghwa lifted his hand to his face before he retracted it back with a smile.

San beamed widely at the older male, taking in the sweet meaning. « Happy. »

“San, you better leave the ducks alone,” Yeosang shouted. The male, San noted, had picked up on his absence. He proably detected the lack of San’s body heat.

In following San, Seonghwa trained his gaze to Yeosang’s form. His expression tantalizing for San to witness up-close.

The sensation came even though he wasn’t the person that generated such tenderness in the older male.

San eyeballed the grass with it. He carefully avoided an intrusion to his friend’s open idolatry.

The emerald blades were unassuming. Bountiful, as there were. _Nice_ , he thought.

He tried to keep distracted from what Seonghwa’s reaction stirred within him. He failed to keep himself completely unscathed in that intensity.

The way Seonghwa viewed Yeosang made him envision Hongjoong. Whether San was lovesick too. 

After a while, Seonghwa snapped out of his reverie. He peered at San, sheepish.

The younger male chortled at the guilt painted across the eldest’s face. He opened one finger of his right fist and drew a circle to the left in front of his face. With Seonghwa’s knowing look, San then tapped his left cheek twice with his right palm. Joyous.

Seonghwa flushed. His rosy cheeks evidently telling. He argued. « Not cute. »

San shook his head. Insolent to that refusal. He kept his demeanour gracious, although his next words prevailed with an opposite idea to that. San tapped his right cheek twice with the first finger of his right fist. He smoothly put together the first and fifth fingers of his right hand to form a circle. He rubbed the shape to the left at the end of his left wrist. He ensured that his eyes conveyed the sentiment to Seonghwa, too. He judged the male received it, loud and clear.

Seonghwa showed indebtedness. He placed the wrist of his right fist between the first and fifth fingers of his left hand and bowed the limb. « I accept this fact. »

Both males jumped in surprised when Yeosang manifested by their side. Physically, he shoved San away without a single care.

San watched how the two males launched into conversation. The ambience of their union affable. The pair lost to orbiting one another for a while.

The outsider to the exchange left with only his thoughts as companionable. He knew they’d be shortly back in incorporating him. San was not held to poignancy.

With a stolen back hug, Seonghwa brought San’s attention back to the pair. He and Yeosang hassled San back to the blanket. Unmoved by the younger male’s dialogue to be freed of the canoodling of his poor soul. They laughed after San received their smug treatment. That glorification of him not truly dismissed by the male.

Although Jongho alleged Yeosang was _‘as slippery as a fish’_ to receive much skinship with, San prided himself on the increased frequency that Yeosang presented to initiate the reassuring touches and hugs they had. Seonghwa, by contrast, characteristically forward in how he revelled in nestling up to everyone in their friend group. The eldest embraced them instinctively.

San carded a hand through his ruffled hair. He brushed the dark strands to be better kempt.

He told himself to see about getting a haircut soon enough. When he spaced out to think through making an appointment, Seonghwa brought him back to the earth.

San lifted his arms, versed to the language to admit his fault. « Sorry, hyung. »

Seonghwa had no intention to request the need for his forgiveness. He simply excused San of that duty. The older male soon placed his slightly bent right fingertip on his chest.

He rotated it one turn to the left. His eyes were inquisitive.

« _Are you worried?_ » San repeated to himself. He contemplated that, wistful.

Seonghwa waited for San to answer.

The male in question decided it was time to share all his hardships and fears. He tried to leave the grittier aspects of his estimation of Hongjoong and himself out, and actively stumbled over how to explain everything of what happened with Wooyoung. He over-exerted himself in getting through every detail and took time to cool down.

Seonghwa’s proceeding speech and movement contained a continual stretch. The flow of his motions was snippy. No real scorn to the sentence. « You talk a lot. »

San patiently held to Yeosang to sympathise. That male scratched at his scalp. The colour of his hair lighter in its blonde shade by the sunlight.

The male in question glanced to Seonghwa, then to San. From his fifth finger, he sequentially folded the fingers of his right hand, palm faced upward. He clenched that fist. Then, he repeated the same action with both hands. «There are many points. »

San knew they were right. He unloaded virtually everything he could, in one fell swoop.

“San-ie,” Yeosang said. “We wish you would’ve told us _sooner_ about everything. You’re going through so much. Why didn’t you say before?”

San beheld his friend. The unmistakable concern in his profile made San’s heart skip a beat. From the corner of his eye, San noticed how Seonghwa busied himself with his phone. The older male sporadically glanced at Yeosang and San, whatever task utilising the device his primary priority. His own solicitude was strong.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” San admitted. His insides churned; the burn of that sensation harrowing. “All my problems are my own fault. I don’t want to bring you, or hyung, or anyone into them. It’s not right to trouble you like that. It wouldn’t be right…”

Yeosang groaned, disappointed. “We’re friends, San. We’re here for you. We stand with one another. If you want us to stay, we must be honest about what we’re going through. I know it’s not easy. Our friendship depends on trust. Trust us, okay? It’s all you have to do.”

 _I trust you._ San refrained himself from saying.

“What’s Seonghwa-hyung doing?” San pressed out instead. Yeosang acknowledged the deflection but allowed for it. He looked pleased; his prior countenance wiped off.

“He’s messaging Wooyoung,” he deftly answered. Too casually, and an obvious tease.

San remembered if you cut off the oxygen supply to them, neurons lose their ability to maintain their ionic gradients. The depolarization leads to eventual cellular death. Neuronal tissue cannot come back from that. With the striking of a high-velocity steel rod, the brain then basically slushed to process anything further.

He felt his mind akin to what he imagined would be that awful slash to the head.

“What’s hyung telling him?” San grounded out. His voice sounded like gravel.

“Objectively, it’s a pompous scheme, structured with little white lies to actual events related to you. The falsified story is to encourage him to drop everything and come here,” Yeosang braved, “I mean, how else can we get a reconciliation to both of you? Hyung and I have watched enough movies to know how this must go. Don’t worry. He’s only giving small tweaks to certain things. To motivate Wooyoung, you know.”

“You’re lying to Wooyoung?” San clarified, stunned. Eyes wide with disbelief.

“Yes,” Yeosang affirmed. “That’s what I _just_ said to you. Do you pay attention?”

San placed limited faith in what Yeosang had proposed. He preferred to think their eldest friend was refined. Too benign to be instructed by Yeosang’s hand.

He knew how cunning Yeosang could be. San shuddered at the recollection of what revenge the older male took after San had forgotten his birthday.

It had been challenging to explain to his parents how he came to adopt a family of parrots.

After the three regrouped, they lapsed into light-hearted discussions. It was right when Seonghwa had been explaining to San why children shouldn’t eat crayons that the noise came. A scream almost made San jump out of his skin.

“San!” the person havocked, akin to a shot of electricity to feel. “Choi San!”

Yeosang and Seonghwa took the male’s appearance as a cue to abandon San.

“What’s wrong Wooyoung?” San asked. Genuinely puzzled by how frazzled Wooyoung came to him. The younger male devasted. Teary-eyed, red-faced.

“You can’t leave,” Wooyoung ordered. “I want you to stay!”

San inwardly cursed those traitors he once knew as friends. A distressed Wooyoung came as a blow to his ability to hold any indomitability front.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he soothed. He let Wooyoung hug him close.

The warmth and press of wetness from the other male saccharine to take in.

“You’re not going to Dubai with Hongjoong-hyung?” Wooyoung confirmed, hopeful. He stared into San’s eyes after he inched apart his hold, elated.

San didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. _Huh_. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”

Wooyoung exhaled in relief. His temperament calm. Upbeat, he pressed, “Thank goodness, hyung’s text sounded really scary. I’m glad I didn’t miss your flight. I can’t believe it… You were about to say goodbye without me! San, never do that.”

Wooyoung froze for a moment, coming to a dreadful realisation in San’s arms.

“What is it?” San regretfully heard someone ask.

 _Oh wait_ , he noted. _He_ asked.

“I might have called Yunho and told him the airport you would be headed for. We agreed that I would head here in hopes of making it in time to catch the end of your goodbye with Seonghwa-hyung,” Wooyoung admitted. The details came in a hurry. He cast his gaze away from San, embarrassed. “I did it, though!”

“Yunho’s chasing after me in some airport?” San’s mouth felt dry as a bone.

“No, Seonghwa-hyung told us you were meeting with him before heading off. He specified Hongjoong-hyung already had gone to the airport. Luckily, Incheon isn’t too far away from us! I’m sure he’ll be in time to catch hyung before take-off. We searched up the flights and there’s enough time left. Yunho did tell the taxi driver he’d pay any fines to break the speed limit,” Wooyoung prattled.

San appreciated how he managed not to blow a fuse at that. Instead, he fiercely glowered at where Yeosang and Seonghwa’s dumbly hid in the nearby canopy.

“Okay,” the male replied.

He hugged Wooyoung closer.

…


	3. Chapter 3

...

THE FINAL DAY FOR THE SEMESTER EXAMS ARRIVED.

It came as a relief for San. 

Students camped both inside and outside of the college libraries. The local convenience stores had sold out of its quantity of instant noodles altogether. The coffee shops had queues that spun down the length of numerous street corners.

San skipped out of his lecture hall when the clock signalled to him his time to write down answer ended. His last paper out his hands, figuratively and literally.

He waved goodbye to the friends in his year as he left. His ambling form hinted how much he needed to clock hours of shut-eye. 

He met up with Yeosang and Yunho before heading for a snooze.

They chose to embrace the outside breeze, where the tall trees stood entrancingly to them.

The dishevelled conditions of San's friends were the embodiment of burnt-out college students. They failed to speak for a time, too enervated to try to find their words.

Yunho’s hair appeared scruffy and his facial features were jaded. Yeosang’s skin was drained of any semblance in colour to imply he had a heartbeat.

It made San consider them as a trio of vampires. Fair skin from lack of sunlight. Lips reddened from being bitten per nervous habit. Lost, lethargic, lifeless.

“Yubin’s nose started bleeding half-way through our professional ethics review,” Yunho told them, his voice hoarse. “She had tissues, at least, to get it under control. The problem was one of the other girls, Euijeong, has a phobia of blood. Let’s just say that the supervisor had to give us an additional twenty minutes to finish up.”

That news petrified San. It lifted him out of his own stupor. “She had a nosebleed. I thought that was a myth they did for the high school dramas... ”

Yunho shook his head. His face grave. “From where I sat and took notice of the blood, Yubin didn’t even flinch in handling it.”

San pondered over it. Yunho classed himself in the most elite program of the campus. It came as no genuine shock to see the implications of that status.

“My assessments went okay,” Yeosang said, after a pregnant pause. “One of the professors complicated one task so much that someone requested a dictionary, though.”

“Isn’t there a rule against using dictionaries?” San pointed out. 

“Yeah, they tested out their luck,” Yeosang clarified. His displeasure was evident.

Grateful that his own exams were predictably mundane, San laughed. He and his friends had survived that first hurdle of their college life. 

“I hope Mingi and Jongho are preparing okay,” Yunho opened up. “It’s a shame their finals are a week after ours. It would’ve been nice to have everyone done at the same time.”

San mulled that over. He didn’t bring himself to weigh up the pros and cons of their college schedule. The way it sentenced them to have their semester finish closer to the end of the month.

He had no more capacity to attach himself to any corrigible insight. His ability to connect and reason extinguished by that point.

Jongho fixed himself to an intake guide for his caffeine needs for the season. The others in the friend circle feared for the ordeal the psychoactive drug would do to his adenosine receptors.

Since Suneung ended, San swore himself off the bitter drink. That hushed morning still haunted him. Full of jitters and dehydrated. That day of reckoning killed his taste for coffee.

San knew Jongho's withdrawal symptoms from his chronic consumption of Americanos made the younger male irritability and drowsy.

He tried to let go of his worry for the youngest. The headaches Jongho would have later surely brutal. He’d experienced them himself; thorns in the very skull.

Mingi, an exceptional case. Without penchant to follow the crowd, Mingi’s tactics to get through the gruelling criteria for his college grades left unknown to San, thankfully.

All the older male knew was that Mingi managed to succeed with high marks, time after time. No clear-cut method to his madness, no obvious shortcuts. Mingi, a probable genius.

“How’s Seonghwa-hyung finding his own semester requirements?” Yunho asked.

Yeosang shrugged, nonchalant. “He always tells me he’s alright, not to fuss over him. Independent to the extreme in work. Hyung in a nutshell.”

When the silence fell over them again, San gazed at the sky.

Diffused with watercolours, the start of summer near. The green iridescence of a beetle’s wing captured him when he looked on. 

The dark-haired male went to rest in the junction of Yunho’s accommodating shoulder and neck. He drifted off, comfortable and snug there.

Before he lapsed into a deeper sleep, Yeosang tugged at him. Dismayed with it, San rubbed at his eyes and stretched out his shoulders.

He looked to the other male, expectantly. Yeosang wouldn’t seek out his attention unless it was for something urgent.

True to that, Yeosang regarded him morosely. “News has emerged that the Lee heir, to that big conglomerate, killed himself. He left a letter. Detailed all the corruption. Every personal insight into his role. Their adapted mechanisms. It’s… huge, to be blunt.”

San swallowed. The male was only months older than he was. He tried not to think about it, to picture that person. “Is anyone that we know included in the details that are reported?”

“No, it was mostly linking to foreign ties. The loosened laws they had to sign the nuclear energy contract was the biggest shock. He mentioned how the real monopolistic behaviour of the Lee group brought Kim Seongjung’s parents to their knees in debt. All the blame to Lee. He even apologised; his handwriting smudged with his tears. _‘I, Lee Keonhee, wish I’d never been born to be the son of the Lee Chairman. Please do not pardon him. Bribery, tax evasion, accounting fraud, embezzlement, and violent crime. Please punish him. I beg. Goodbye.’”_

The humble agrarian market became a large global economy. That named third-generation notoriously renowned with the most recognised Korean subsidiary.

Yunho froze beside San. Yeosang was unaware that the older male had once befriended Keonhee.

They’d been close, before.

San knew the tales of how Yunho chased after butterflies in Keonhee’s steed. Cherub-cheeked, giggling in chime to the wind.

San wished that, if all were correct in the idea of reincarnation and rebirth, Keonhee could be freed like those pretty butterflies.

The male reached to grasp Yunho’s hand with his. A quiet reassurance. _I’m here._

Yeosang sensed the upset emanated from Yunho’s ossified form. The light-haired male shifted in position, the guilt plain with his protruded lower lip.

San wished he dared to reach out to him, too, to tell him it was okay; he wasn’t to know the impact of his shared knowledge.

Yunho would be due to uncovering the articles and forums flooded upon Keonhee’s passing. It had to have been the biggest turbulence in the South Korean news for the year, even for the decade.

That coalescence of uncertainty remained. The three males took with private thoughts. Taunt bodies to those implacable voices. Wise, but not wise enough.

Their world kept turning and turning.

No one could change that elliptical path.

San soon observed his surroundings. The sunbeams, that of yang. The shadows, that of yin. The yin received the actions of yang. They completed one another.

That thought process broke the last of his bleaker concerns. He decided to try and uplift Yunho’s spirit. He squeezed the older male’s hand, determined.

That alerted Yunho enough to look to him, surprised. San displayed his teeth, then bashful.

The action brought Yeosang back, too. The male was aware of what the precedent action meant in the context of San. “Please don’t do the impression again. I have enough of them, honestly.”

The sentence held no genuine displeasure to the prospect to San’s parody. San, with the complaint, rolled his eyes. He took advantage of the air to be playful. “What, you’re tired of my acting talent? When I get scouted as the leading male in the next flower boy hit drama, I’ll make sure you are the first person I thank in my acceptance speech for rookie of the year.”

Yunho snorted, taken with San’s zeal. His expression brightened with the coy behaviour of his friend. San’s avidity for his pitch hard to deny the fun of, too special to let slide.

They distracted themselves for a short while. Bantered overacting out many melodramas, snidely coming up with puns to flavour the fictional characters with new personalities.

They came to compose themselves when they noted the absence of others in the area. The night steadily crept upon them and took over the former glory of the sunny afternoon they had known before.

The hot summer days seemed to be closer, at least. The day was still alive amidst the dark.

San looked forward to that upcoming time. Where the sunset would come across the white sand. Blue pastel covered with a red light. A special time. For him. For them. 

At that moment, he blinked. On an island with the expanse of fields, he lied down to take it in.

He wanted to fly to that sky of red. A lifelong glow. The twilight.

Though he could put out his hand to feel the sway of the wind, San didn't touch that element truly to feel the freedom of it.

He knew, had known for so long, all those standardised exams supplicated to be an objective measure of one’s qualifications.

He lived in a place where the value of unity had individuals judged solely on that same, lonely basis. Little room for debate and subjectivity. Things were monotonous.

San bundled up in his jacket. A lump in his throat. Jongho and Mingi had already revised their resumes and searched the web for working opportunities for the break from college. Yunho, Yeosang and Seonghwa were all locked into gracing prestigious beings for long days of service. They had to keep family reputation afloat in that boundless sea of those affluent tides.

San, though by right fitting into that realm, no longer due to that same commitment.

That had evaporated. A miracle enough his family had not lost all fortune.

Wooyoung and Hongjoong were his only friends to experience more of the summer with him. Albeit their jobs kept them restricted, they had none of that confinement to attend and perform at opulent functions. Their labours aimed to earn a living and not to pass themselves as reverent magnates.

Yeosang was the first to leave the trio. He bowed apologetically to his friends. The other two wished him well. They watched him depart from the grounds, assiduous as ever.

The interchange and interplay of night and day fascinating to how the light draped the handsome male in vibrant colours that painted him otherworldly.

“Yeosang could’ve been cursed to that fate, too.”

San looked up at the catch to Yunho’s whisper. His attention directed at Yeosang’ back dissipated at the abrupt statement. “What do you mean?”

Yunho appeared troubled. Yeosang’s absence brought the chance to him to be more transparent to the plight he faced. “It was Keonhee-hyung today, but it could’ve been Yeosang. Everyone knew how Chairman Lee was a tyrant, cruel. Especially to his own family. Hyung had permanent bruises, always wore long-sleeved shirts no matter the temperature. But when Yeosang’s father was alive, you know how terrifying it was to be in his proximity, never mind being his actual child. He kept a leash on Yeosang, dragged him around. Treated him like an imbecile, mocked him. The man knew I was present and harassed his son.”

San recalled the elder. His demeanour had been hostile when San encountered him. The male excused it on the hierarchy of their society. The fact he was but a child, and not equal in wealth. Even with that careful resolve, he felt little more than an ant under the scathing glare of the figure.

His name was spoken by the Kang akin to it being dirt shovelled in and spat out of his mouth.

It left him nauseous.

The master of witches. The tempter of sinners. That noted personage that made a bed in the collective consciousness of Christendom. The devil’s origins not limited to faith alone, San learned. 

The man died of gastric cancer. Yeosang turned thirteen that year. The family held an impressive feat to re-distribute the business position the father had held; Yeosang’s mother brought the family’s income up higher than ever before. They thrived, their progress exemplary in the deals and endeavours they honoured.

San knew exactly how Yunho could conjure up that same headline for Yeosang.

The plague of Yeosang’s father lasted a lifetime already, never mind what might have been having he heckled and tormented Yeosang into his adolescent years.

It immediately made San yearn for Yeosang to come back.

If only to hug him close.

“Will you be okay tonight?” San asked. He inspected Yunho discreetly. The brunette shied away from the protective edge. Contrite to his obvious grief, San focused on his well-being.

“I have to pack,” the male replied. His tone was sad. “Off to Milan in the morning.”

San nodded then. He ignored the disappointment of the separation, knowing his priority was not to his own wants. “But will you be okay?”

Yunho’s pursed his lips. His mien hence torn. “I haven’t slept much lately, anyway. I keep having these weird dreams when I do sleep. They’re not bad, though. I mean, not like nightmares. I’ve never had such dreams before.”

San huffed his incredulity. Only, Yunho and his inability to lie was undeniable. He cleared this throat with that thought, “What kind of nightmares are they?”

The discomfort Yunho felt clear to San. He gave in, given San’s desire to have him speak. “I’m placed as the surveillance over everyone. Jongho consistently runs up these stairs, but I don’t know where he’s going. Seonghwa-hyung takes an elevator. Yeosang and Wooyoung greet him. They become trapped there. In a limbo. Last time, I found Mingi in this ring of fire. Nobody can escape from those prisons. Sometimes they don’t feel like dreams. They feel real.”

San’s eyes widened the longer Yunho went on. The vulnerability in the older male’s voice made him recognise how influenced Yunho was to the host of his subconscious.

“Are you trapped, too?” he questioned. Perturbed to the sinister theme at play.

Yunho frowned. The darkness depicted him elysian in the evening. Soft, delicate. “I might be. I feel this sense of something is going wrong. It’s strange, isn’t it? Strange.”

“Maybe the stress for finals came into your subconscious,” San proposed, “You know, the way people interpret dreams like that? You might be unconsciously seeking something, like tranquillity from studying."

Yunho scratched at the back of his head. He considered San’s explanation. The other male waited, before Yunho eventually said, “You’re right, that’s probably it.”

Satisfied, San beamed at the other. “You should rest easy tonight.”

Yunho agreed and moved to gather his things. The pair took to walking in a step toward the exit of their campus, in companionable silence for the journey back around the place.

It was only when San and Yunho started to separate that San thought to ask of the brunette something that manifested in him after their conversation.

It grew listless to scrutinise the puzzling nature of the chat.

“Do you ever dream of Hongjoong-hyung or me?” he inquired; tone mild.

Yunho shook his head, lips in a tight line. “No. Both of you are just not present in them. I don’t know why not, you’re just not there. Neither is hyung. Maybe one day you’ll appear.”

San ignored the way he felt his heart slam into the bone of a rib. He smiled at Yunho.

Sanguine as he bid him farewell. The older male content at the reaction.

 _They’re nightmares._ San told himself. He hurried through that largest metropolis in the country. The soles of his feet burned. As if they were aflame. 

San failed to let go of his tribulation. Yunho lied to him. San had shown up in those dreams. Hongjoong must have appeared to Yunho then, too.

The lilt in the older male’s answer. The tension in his frame.

Yunho lied to him. The feeling was excrescent in San’s chest.

...

“Pop one more balloon, I dare you,” Hongjoong practically growled at Wooyoung.

Wooyoung, taken back by the older male’s threat, looked blankly at him. His innocent front authentic. The suppressed giggling made it less conceivable.

Their staring contest ended given a loud bang. The high-pressure air that was inside the balloon freed to expand and create that detected pressure wave.

The pair turned to see the troublemaker who caused that ruckus.

He grinned widely, his meddlesome mission to garner their attention then easily completed.

“Choi Jongho,” Hongjoong glowered. “I will kick you out of this committee.”

“This is a committee?” Jongho rivalled. He failed to be convinced and snorted.

“Yes, the Kang Yeosang Celebration Committee,” Hongjoong said decisively.

Jongho snorted once more at that for good measure. It came out obstreperous.

San lifted an arm, timid. The attention scant on him with the argument that came with Jongho and Hongjoong on naming rights within the group for them.

“Hyung,” he shouted. “Is it possible to have too much helium gas inhaled?”

“You’re not supposed to inhale it,” Hongjoong told him. To San’s sheepish smile, Hongjoong groaned. “Please tell me no one did. You deprive yourself of _oxygen_. You brats, I swear!”

“I just feel a little light-headed,” Yunho defended himself. The sound waves his vocal cords produced travelled through the air into his voice box fast enough that they stretched out.

The reedy tone brought by the gas’ impact on his overall timbre.

Mingi chuckled hard enough that he teared up. 

Yunho held his head in his hands, haggard. He cried, “The room keeps spinning!”

“A member lost to the Choi Jongho Is Handsome Committee,” Jongho deplored.

San observed the protruding forehead vein sported by Hongjoong. He looked around at the others, all occupied with their amusement instead of contribution to get the room prepared for the surprise party. He pitied the older male, who clearly put pressure on himself to have everything done expertly for Yeosang. The group not suited to the organisation at all.

“Come on,” San urged. Motivated to do his best. “We need to finish up soon.”

Hongjoong’s three-in-one room appeared in a tizzy. The half-baked efforts of the friends meant they were at the stage of having all decorations spread out on the floor rather than in position. The area worse in its condition than it had been before the males had arrived to make it look resplendent.

San looked over his shoulder to judge Yunho. That male grasped the severity of the inert gas he’d been excited to take in. He seemed to be better with the pressing release from its impact.

His concentration restored. He gradually moved to assist Jongho in curling the assortment of colourful ribbons for the birthday streamers. The sway not yet eliminated to his form.

Mingi worked tirelessly to fill up the last of the balloons to float up to the ceiling. He had a knack to getting each size of the items identical, his timing impeccable.

Wooyoung and Hongjoong disappeared to the kitchen to work on dinner. Their speciality for the night was yangnyeom chicken, as per unanimous voting.

The seasoning a make or break for the two males, everyone else present jested of them. They took it in their stride.

San already checked to ensure all ingredients utilised were in date, and edible.

The dark-haired male found himself stuck at his task. The home-made card before him empty. He struggled to think of how to include a dedicatory message to Yeosang.

Nothing immediate sprang to him to offer heartfelt communication.

He envied the others, absent-mindedly going through the requirements of their jobs.

He technically had the one that necessitated least physical demand, yet he had no such momentum to get things started. San stared at the card, fretful.

He had a million things to tell Yeosang from their group, yet nothing at all.

Each cogitation passed him by. He failed to fully fathom how to articulate any points.

San gave up on using his words. He changed to garnishing the card with his creative touch. He made good use of the glitter and stickers on hand. The front of the gift spruced up with kaleidoscopic winsomeness. He splashed out on his stimulating designs with another layer of glitter. Finished, it was vivid to take in. Rightfully an eyesore, if he said so himself.

The male ignored the mess he made with the scintillating particles. _I’ll clean it up later._

“Mingi,” he called to his friend. The red-haired male occupied by the fun the static electricity the balloons let him explore. Mingi quickly fixed his hair.

He gazed at San, confounded to discover the mayhem in his token untidiness.

“I’ll clean it up later!” San cut in before Mingi got to. He gave the younger male his best pleading look. “What should I write for Yeosang’s card? I don’t know how to phrase anything well. Mingi, you’re very talented with words. Help me out, please.”

Pretty sure Mingi muttered about San’s long begone manners, San became gleeful when the tall male plodded over to his side. San hugged him close, then. Puppy eyes full-on.

“You got glitter all over my face,” Mingi told him after they had separated. He’d been right; San forgot his hands were coated in the sparkles.

He had gripped Mingi’s cheeks without a second thought before he realised the error of that.

“It washes off easy,” San lied, unwilling to lose Mingi’s favour. “Don’t worry!”

Mingi, distrustful to that excuse, gave him the benefit of the doubt. He indicated to the card with a nod. “What do you want to say to Yeosang with this? What comes to mind?”

“'Happy birthday’?” San offered weakly. He found nothing else to propose.

“Then just write that,” Mingi suggested. He stated it as though it were the most obvious thing on the planet. The blow to San’s ego dreadful. He sulked at the Incheon born male.

“I knew that,” came San’s sure-fire whine. “I wanted to _elaborate_ on that to make it more special.”

Mingi weighed that up. “Say it simply. Let the love come from your heart, San. I know you have the emotions perfect as they are.” He broke off, then, “What counts is you _remembered_ his birthday. I think he’ll be happy enough at that. You’re marginally better to even put his name down than you were last year. Yeosang still hasn’t let that go.”

San turned back to his canvas. The pen he held felt too big between his shaky fingers.

His anxiety increased to get the card up to par with his standards. He soon wrote in a rush. It felt like it were a now or never moment to do so.

Then delighted by his passion and penmanship, San heartily congratulated himself. The craft defied his expectations. 

He placed the card in a safe location, beyond Jongho’s snoopy reach.

San whisked himself off to the kitchen, light on his feet at his accomplishment.

Hongjoong and Wooyoung gave off the impression they had made good progress in their strengths with the planned meal. San peered around at the disarray of the rundown of the different food constituents. The immense leftover garlic was more than he expected.

“How’s it going?” he checked in with them. Puzzled at how composed they were.

Hongjoong smiled warmly. His hair straggled over his bright eyes.

The affection that pulsated for San at that adorable appearance more than he could bargain for to tolerate. Without intent, Hongjoong managed to get into the younger male’s very bloodstream.

The image of the male floated in San, behind his closed eyes.

San took a deep breath. He willed his face to be devoid of emotion. His heart and mind were not to let him off the hook without an ache.

The male could only return Hongjoong’s smile with his own. He hoped it didn’t come to contort as pained.

"We think we can open our own restaurant in no time,” Hongjoong boasted.

Wooyoung confirmed that degree of confidence. He matched Hongjoong’s enthusiasm with his own, as he bounded over to San to feet him some beef.

“Is it good?” he asked the older male. The fidelity in his Wooyoung’s eyes reluctant there. San chewed and swallowed slowly. He savoured the pleasant taste.

“Perfect,” he emboldened. He cherished the delight it brought Wooyoung.

The younger male put on cloud nine from the praise, running to feed him again.

“Save some for Yeosang!” Hongjoong chortled. Too lenient to be serious.

San enjoyed how the two friends attempted to have him be a guinea pig for them. They sought his validation their food was cooked and seasoned well.

He appreciated the nourishment, but politely declined more of the fill-in such rapid succession of each bite.

He wouldn’t let their perfectionist tendencies come at the expense of him in a foetal position for the night with his stomach expansion.

“Where’s the cake?” San inquired. Hongjoong and Wooyoung exchanged a confused look with one another before they turned to face San at the prompt.

“I wasn’t in charge of the cake,” Wooyoung made them cautiously aware.

“Neither was I,” Hongjoong supplemented. He furrowed his brows, diplomatic.

“Who was in charge of the cake, then?” San enjoined them to answer.

Both males obliging shrugged. “It must be one of the others,” they argued.

San tactfully avoided probing them further. He doubted them, as the team assigned to the food aspect of the party, were not set to include the cake.

He chose to head out to the rest of the group and dreaded the possibility there was _no_ cake.

“Yunho,” San selected of the brunette to enlighten him first. Yunho appeared stumped at San’s attentiveness. “Who was in charge of the cake for the party?”

“Wooyoung,” he answered, albeit uncertainly. San’s aura was hard to comply with.

San nodded once to him. Appeased. He ventured closer to Jongho. The Seoul-born and bred male chatted animatedly to Mingi.

Aware of San’s gaze on him, Jongho regarded him nonplussed. San checked again, “Jongho, who was in charge of the cake—”

“Wooyoung-hyung,” Jongho cut in before the question had finished. “Why?”

San lamented Seonghwa’s absence. The older male the type who’d bring up a back-up of such a significant point of interest, because he would read ahead and know how unreliable everyone was. Especially Wooyoung. 

_To worry is to suffer twice._ Haneul would tell San whenever he’d be distressed over trivial things. She vouched for him to share such burdens.

San wanted that sentence to hold the same power to help him out. It failed to produce a cake.

“Right,” San gritted his teeth. “We have no birthday cake for Yeosang then.”

“I don’t like cake anyway,” Jongho dismissed. He trained himself to focus on glueing down his ribbons. At San’s strained guffaw, he blinked. Indifferent to San’s worry.

“The cake isn’t for you,” Mingi pointed out politely. The male returned to having the balloons as a source of entertainment for him. “Cake is a must for a birthday party.”

“How can he make a wish without blowing out candles?” Yunho jumped in. He’d been in the middle of cutting out shapes to embellish a new banner with.

The love hearts cut conscientiously. San made out that seeing Yunho’s steady hands.

San retraced his steps back to the kitchen. Wooyoung and Hongjoong hung by the doorway, shamelessly.

San concluded they’d been glued in on his given conversation with everyone else. He gave a scathing look, seeking retribution.

“I forgot that I had to buy the cake,” Wooyoung admitted in a squeak. “Sorry.”

“I’ll go down to the store,” San amended. He headed to gather up his jacket and aim for the door. Yunho suggested tteok could work for the candles.

San kept moving, letting that debate air out between Yunho and Mingi without his input.

He only moved roughly two steps outside of the apartment when he caught sight of a shadow. The presence behind him unnerved San, but he still turned around.

Hongjoong panted out loudly. Diffident when San scanned him up and down.

“I didn’t want you to go alone,” the older male blabbed, self-effacing.

 _You’re already in my veins._ San would tell him, had he the courage to take that dive.

His friend was oblivious to see he had become one in essence with San’s blood.

San laughed. “It’s okay if you’re tagging along to buy yourself snacks, hyung. I won’t tell anyone on you.” The younger male planned to buy him potato chips, irrespective of Hongjoong being present for the trip. It was a habit San had; it came too natural to him.

“No,” Hongjoong defended. Fervently, he insisted, “I want to go to be with you.”

 _Oh._ San’s chest constricted at that. He tried to suppress the hope that came to the surface. Hongjoong’s gaze did not stray away from his view. _Please, don’t._

San put on that dimpled smile he knew every mother doted over.

Hongjoong grinned back at that. Pleased by how well-received his explanation was to San.

In the back of San’s mind, he freed that lost daydream. One buried by sands of time. _It was then that San swopped in and pressed his lips against Hongjoong's. Though cut off guard, the elder allowed San to coax his mouth open..._

The midnight shade of Hongjoong’s lashes returned San to reality. The energies and vibrations were of the universe unchanged. That conscientiousness was unshakeable.

San allowed himself to linger to admire the older male. Then, he broke the spell.

“Let’s go,” he coughed out, “before Wooyoung sets your whole place on fire.”

Hongjoong gave him a measured squint. It made San inwardly squirm. He didn’t seek to verify what Hongjoong’s consideration meant. It daunted him too much.

The blazing city obtruded San’s rumination. The pair pushed onward.

The sickle of the moon obscured. San tried to follow that visible satellite of the earth. It was out of reach to the line of his vision.

San believed it unfair how people could not control what their hearts wanted.

_You don't like me. Not in any of those infinity multiplies._

Hongjoong smiled at him. That consistent smile of his. The one that held a fine fondness. San wanted to hate it. He recognised it to be oddly delicate. One that was too kind to be profound.

The emotion conveyed to him of simple friendship.

The smile managed to confirm his worst fears effortlessly. Hongjoong, permissively friendly.

Courteous, benign. All the wrong synonyms to have.

No intensity, no magnitude. Nothing that signified San meant more to him.

San walked ahead of Hongjoong, just to keep his expression hidden.

...

They arrived back to Hongjoong’s place not long after, a cake in their possession.

The older male peeped inside from the inch he gave to open the door. He then pushed it to let both entities through, relieved.

The occupants and space itself all in good shape still. No visible damage yet.

“Who had the glitter?” Hongjoong implored. The older male offended at the mess left behind. San whistled. The cold sweat slide down his spine. He ventured off speedily.

“It was San-hyung,” Jongho alerted Hongjoong. Those blossoms of goodwill decayed.

San hissed at the betrayal of the youngest. Jongho stuck his tongue out at him. Condemned to the crime, San veered to face Hongjoong, who fumed quietly at the Namhae-born male.

“It’s like you want to ruin my floorboards,” he castigated, “why couldn’t you at least put down some newspaper or rugs before you worked with the materials? Seriously.”

“I didn’t know they still sold newspapers,” San professed. Embarrassed.

“Hyung, I need you to check if the soup tastes okay!” Wooyoung called out.

Hongjoong stilled from gesticulating his contempt to San’s negligence. He seemed to be mollified to attend to Wooyoung enough to stop his scolding.

San let out a sigh of relief when the older male walked past him. Yunho offered him a thumbs up, while Mingi appeared peeved how short-lived the lecture was in obvious disappointment.

San launched himself at Jongho. The revenge sweet when Jongho cried out in despair underneath San’s just about gangly form.

The tune of his _“Get off me, hyung!”_ shrieks did not sway San to relent. He hugged his friend closer.

San’s right-in-the-trenches man came along to muscle-in on the rightful punishment of disloyalty. Jongho’s plaintive cry radio static to them both.

“Mingi, you’re kneeing him in the groin,” Yunho stated from his vantage point.

“Oh, sorry,” Mingi apologised to Jongho. He changed his position to ameliorate that extent of pain to the other. Jongho sighed. He seemed to accept his fate, though with a grunt.

“When are you getting off me?” the youngest asked after minutes went by.

Mingi hummed. He seemed cosy in his place. San brushed his fingers through Jongho’s dark hair, “Our Jongho. We’re so lucky to have been born into a time where you are.”

“Can I have a turn?” Yunho entreated of San. He crawled over to the dogpile.

Jongho tried to urge his legs to gain strength to flee. Although his militant drive for success was commendable, he slumped when San nodded to Yunho’s want. Permission granted.

San breathed in the fragrance of Jongho. It provided a contrast to his rather soured mood. His relaxing scent blended camomile and honey with woody notes. Pleasant and mellow.

“My brethren!” Yunho cheered them on. He leapt on top of Mingi’s form, proud.

The older males only separated from Jongho’s winded form when Hongjoong hounded them for the ganging up on the youngest. Wooyoung snickered at their faces with Hongjoong’s harangue. Jongho mumbled how Yeosang was the only hyung he trusted. San sure he’d go and procure voodoo dolls of him and Mingi.

The male forgave Yunho’s part in the ordeal. The energiser was bounteous to Jongho.

Wooyoung intervened to Hongjoong’s ten-minute speech time. He held his phone in his hand, eyes widened. “Hyung texted. They’re fifteen minutes away right now.”

They all froze. Then, they all ran about like headless chickens for final touches.

San rooted himself down and scrubbed aggressively at the tarnished floor spot. He nearly had the skin ripped off his poor fingers. The suds of soap made his eye ache when he had the genius idea to scratch the itch right beside it. He cursed, irked by the abhorrent sensation. Distantly, he heard the trial and tribulation of Yunho and Hongjoong. Teamed up to clear Mingi’s face from the vengeful glitter.

San thought he was getting close to setting a new record. That for the instances where his friends invoked his name to sound like the most wicked thing to a man.

Somehow, San managed to salvage the floor from the gleaming material. Mingi’s red-raw cheeks omitted, the male also looked good. Without any hint of sparkle to him.

At the sound of knocking, the males scattered to hide. Hongjoong lowered the lighting to give them better camouflage. The older male drew in a breath to steady himself. He fashioned himself to his amateur role for the stage that came to be.

“Lights, camera, action!” Jongho ascertained. The male hidden behind curtains.

San espied the scene of Hongjoong welcoming their guests. He observed, in the dim light, their figures. Hongjoong greeted Yeosang and Seonghwa warmly. The confusion clear in Yeosang. His facial features scrunched up; he analysed the room’s atmosphere.

Seonghwa continued to converse with Hongjoong, unfazed.

The others gave it another minute. In that time, the trio moved to the middle of the room.

Yeosang’s gaze darted around. Hongjoong deliberately divagated to bring up the topic of someone’s birthday being four days ago. He acted well, to the surprise of the others.

When despondency registered in Yeosang’s countenance, San gave the signal.

The five males jumped up. The abrupt appearances startled Yeosang.

The male saved from tripping over his feet by Seonghwa, who trained his glance at him. Of course, Seonghwa always looked at Yeosang as if he were an oasis found in a drought.

The joy that emerged on Yeosang’s face made everything worthwhile.

He championed the singing of his friends. They danced together in the arms of the starlight. Hand in hand. Happy there. Hongjoong brought the infamous cake out.

Yeosang blew out the candles with fresh determination. He closed his eyes tightly, uttering a wish under his breath.

When they quietened down, after one encore too many of the rendition of the song, Mingi engulfed them all in a hug. Stray smooches and nuzzles not amiss.

« Hyung, your sense of rhythm is good. » Jongho complimented Seonghwa.

The eldest secured the lyrics of the sing-along and followed it through. Seonghwa had a distinct, sweet voice. The underlying harmony maintained with one another enriching.

The issue at hand was he lacked the confidence to share it, too nervous.

« I’m a natural-born singer. » The male professed. His cheeks heated up after he finished.

He cringed after ending the rotation of his fingers in left and right.

At that topic of discussion, San forced himself to not listen further. He knew that it was unfair to hold Seonghwa accountable for being passionate. Unruly of him to do.

But San’s mind often worked against his better judgement, and he was not immune to the agony induced of him to contemplate the noted profession.

With the table set up for a bouquet, Wooyoung and Hongjoong’s admirable culinary achievements on display. The eight of them began to eat without delay.

Yeosang and Seonghwa stood out from the others, San realised then. The males smartly dressed compared to the whims the others decked themselves out in.

It reminded San of the sleek lines and modern furnishings of Seonghwa’s house. Nothing out of line. Each angle with little error margin for the hung paintings.

It made their actions to eat off the plastic plates, Hongjoong supplied them with earnestly, all the more comical. They seemed out of place, yet also in touch.

The amenities of Hongjoong’s place lacking plenty to that of upscale deep pockets.

Their group celebration of the given birthday delayed in line with Yeosang’s prior commitments.

It’d been a wonder to get everyone freed up for the night. It had taken a lot of elbow grease for San and Hongjoong to get the plans in action.

The dark-haired male sat in line with Yeosang and Wooyoung. They allowed his intrusion to their conversation without comment. Both too enthralled with their chat.

“As I mentioned to you before, supernovas are dying stars,” Yeosang murmured to Wooyoung. “We see them too late, don’t we? When they’re not even alive.”

At the morbid note, San raised an eyebrow. It figured he’d enter to that turn. He cowered in on himself. Yeosang’s vast knowledge of star-stuff fascinating.

San noted how Wooyoung made little effort to eat. While the others layered upon theirs, the younger male’s plate stayed empty. San’s heart broke to see it like that again.

He attempted to pay attention to Yeosang as he connected to the versatile and capable of unifying areas in that branch of physics. The male droned on to Wooyoung, about the quantum mechanics and the wave function collapse. 

Yeosang meticulously explained the idea that by the observation of something, the system is forced to make a choice. Wooyoung listened, inexplicably sombre without pretence.

“The general aim of the string theory is to create a unified 'theory of everything'. It’s based on the assumption that all matter in the Universe is made up of tiny dancing 'strings' hidden deep within quarks,” Yeosang’s enunciated soundly. “To work mathematically, there must be ten physical dimensions hidden somewhere, as opposed to the four that we see right now. There could be a huge number of different universes tucked away too. Each having varied physical laws. That contains fundamentals like different electron masses and constants of gravity.”

San, though appreciative to how well-versed his friend was, could not keep up. He bit at his knuckled fist. Initially to lap up the tasty sauce that dripped off the chicken he took to polishing off to the bone.

He appreciated it quelled his disquiet. The dark-haired male turned to check in with his friend beside him. “What are you doing?” he pondered of the male. Yunho invested in typing on his phone with a firm focus.

The brunette glanced up from the device. “I was just looking up the bus hours.”

San respected how Yunho endeavoured to experience the world in being less flagrant with money. He kept himself modest.

San was unsure if it came as a natural attitude for the male, else an influence imparted by the group.

All elucidations on hold to that, San remained gratified to call Yunho his friend.

He denoted Yunho, “You broke your nose last time you rode the subway alone.”

Yunho pouted. He received that blow of San’s reprove. “It’s healed up now!”

San, about to interrogate Yunho over how he planned to get home via the bus, closed his mouth when Wooyoung patted him on the shoulder. He turned to the male.

Wooyoung lowered his head in the direction of Seonghwa, then Yeosang.

The pair unequipped to catch the younger male putting them in the limelight.

“Apparently our friends have a bet going that we end up together,” Wooyoung whispered in his ear. That delivered soft breath tickled the shell of his ear. San shivered, cold.

For a beat, he formulated no coherent stretch of a viable response. The sudden knowledge blind-sided him; he peeked at Wooyoung. The close male wore an unreadable expression.

San grasped at nothing from his friend’s resonance.

He followed his instincts. San refused to over-think. He trusted in himself that he knew Wooyoung. Their flirtations painted them out as ultimate confidantes. San sanctioned he needed Wooyoung. He kept that bottled in himself, though. Their bond something unbreakable. _I want to live in bright dreams, with you. Forever._

He didn’t quite understand, try as he might, what Wooyoung wanted of him to give back to his shared fact. San, right then, dubious to the younger’s demure.

“Of course,” San forced himself to break the silence. “It’s true love.”

The terse sarcasm in his tone dampened Wooyoung’s mood. San made to apologise for how extreme he sounded, but the other shook his head. Almost expectantly.

“It’s just a stupid bet,” Wooyoung reasoned. His profile darkened considerably.

The landing San took from that punch harrowing. He tasted the asphalt on his very tongue. His throat dry. His knees trembled. He messed up, somehow. Again. His new forte.

He concluded that Wooyoung probably anticipated he’d go along with pretending they were romantically involved for show. To prank them, to expose the friends for their silly gamble.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Wooyoung muttered. He didn’t glance at San again.

Yeosang materialised in Wooyoung’s place. Yunho leaned in to press himself on San’s shoulder.

Both of them squeezed up against him, the air clammy in their exchanged breaths. San grunted, unable to escape their sudden imprisonment.

“You’re unbelievably dense,” Yeosang told him quietly. 

“No wonder he can’t drive yet,” Yunho butted in. “He can’t read any signs!”

San shook out his frame, annoyed. “I know I upset Wooyoung, okay? It wasn’t my intention to not understand him! I didn’t realise he had different desires to mine! Stop ganging up on me!”

Yeosang and Yunho stiffened at once. They stared long and hard at San. In the subdued background, San heard Jongho and Hongjoong’s voices in their shared respective conversation. They filled in the break of the stillness. He caught sight of Seonghwa eating in his peripheral, Mingi right next to him.

San turned back.

“And what are your ‘desires’?” Yeosang pried open of him. He examined San like he were a test specimen in a research laboratory. San exposed; sensitive and weak to him.

“Wooyoung’s my best friend,” he cleared up, “I don’t know what’s the deal with people thinking we’ll get together. Even my noona will say that to me, ask me if we’re already dating. Wooyoung and I don’t work like that. We’re not meant to be together, not in that way. He agrees! Besides, I like–"

A sudden crash cut San off. He snapped up to take in the scatter of his dish on the floor. Seonghwa apologised for his blunder.

His courtesy communicated first. He then placed his two hands in front of both eyes. He made a circle with the ends of his first and fifth fingers facing each other. From there, he moved his right hand up and his left hand down at the same time. « My mistake. »

Wooyoung trudged back at that point. He shuffled in to sit next to Yeosang, allowing that male to stay placed beside San.

He didn’t speak.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa cleaned up the remnants of the broken plate. For a time, no one resumed in their chattering.

The awkwardness twisted inside of San. He wished he could rewind and get a second chance to say the right thing to Wooyoung.

His friend wore his heart on his sleeve. Despondent, he stayed.

It filled San’s head with countless questions. _Maybe I’m holding him back._

He looked to Yeosang. The male doll-like with inactivity. The serenity made him out to be younger than his real age. His facial features were unfeigned to hardships.

San knew the truth.

Peter Pan wanted to grow up in his tale. Cursed to that eternal childhood. With that, San saw through the façade Yeosang had, too.

Though he embraced the youth with them, San felt him slipping away. 

In a short span of time, Yeosang grew to be most affirmed of them all in the adult world.

Forever in him, San wanted to claim a part of Yeosang before he would be out of his grasp entirely.

The sense of that, coupled with Wooyoung’s distance, ached.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that everyone is doing well and staying safe. Thank you for reading, it means a lot to me. I am very grateful for all the support this story has received. Any feedback would be super appreciated because I feel somewhat aimless about what people think... I know I lack a lot so understand I still need to improve and hope to do so. c: Sending you all love! ♡


	4. Chapter 4

...

“MINGI, GET IN THE CAR ALREADY! IT’S TIME TO GO, HURRY UP! COME ON!”

The named male startled at the yell. He grimaced, giving the person a dirty look.

“You lost the game fair and square. You’re in our car,” Wooyoung reminded.

The male hung lazily outside his passenger seat window. He fixed Mingi with a ferocious glare.

The red-haired male gave a last impish smile to the people in the vehicle he lingered by.

He had failed to win over their keen favour to swap out one of the occupants for him instead. Nobody wanted to take up his place in the other car, no matter how he willed them to do so.

“Mingi, please come on,” Hongjoong pleaded. Quite skittishly, he sprung to call out. “Wooyoung is threatening to honk the horn. I don’t think I can hold him back, please!”

Wooyoung grunted to that but did not refute what the older male said.

He had strayed toward the steering wheel with each passing second Mingi spent outside.

Mingi sighed. He jostled San to make room for himself in the backseat. The older male shouldered him in retaliation. He even had the audacity to stick his tongue out when Mingi wailed. The pair were uncaring to their level of childishness at that given rate.

“Why did I do paper,” San could faintly make out Hongjoong’s whisper from the front. “I knew I should’ve gone with rock, but I hesitated and did paper. This always happens.”

The eldest male started the engine and began the journey to the seaside. New to the experience of driving, Hongjoong moved the car out slowly.

Skittish at the wheel.

Wooyoung leaned back into his seat. His dry sense of humour did not go amiss by anyone in the car when he piped up with, “We are the four destined heroes to this world.”

“The visuals are not here,” San interjected dully. “Pretty sure they’re blinding the streets ahead of us. Which is fine, I didn’t want a peaceful ride up anyway. Too calming.”

Mingi glanced over to San, perplexed. “Do you mean that?” He wondered aloud.

San thought it best not to tally how many sighs he’d get through in the ride. A countless number, “Mingi. I was kidding. I regret how unlucky I am to be here.”

“Oh,” that much silenced Mingi. He abdicated to comment any more to that.

“I’m sure they rigged the game,” Wooyoung pointed out. He shook out his hair, keeping the locks of lilac from obstructing his vision. “Yunho can’t keep a straight face when he lies. I once won his whole stash of Choco Pies because of it. Every time he tried bluffing; he basically confessed his guilt with his tremble. I felt bad to rob him so effortlessly.”

“Yeosang and Seonghwa-hyung winked at one another a lot,” Mingi added. When Wooyoung and San stared at him imploringly, he flustered. It became crystal clear that he then recognised how easily he fell victim to the couple's deception. “I thought it was their love language! Oh no, it wasn’t...”

“'Love language’?” Hongjoong sounded dubious. “What does that term mean?”

“Hyung, where do I even begin,” Mingi started. Exemplary to his upright posture as he prepared himself for the onslaught of an education. “The action of love is different for everyone. So, people have a unique way of understanding the love they receive. It’s simplified into five different types if you will. The first—”

“--Did you read this in a magazine?” Wooyoung bothered him. Fascinated.

The taller male looked sullen to the interruption. He clasped his hands together, serious. “I did research. I am a well-rounded person for all social interactions. I have to be, you know.”

“You sound like a relationship coach,” San decreed. He observed Mingi as the red-haired male sputtered to that. The male sounded harried. Rather winded, lips zipped shut.

“What are the five different types?” Hongjoong encouraged his friend. While the oldest of the group had his lips pressed in a tense, thin line with his dedication to road safety, he did his best to intervene to keep the others from being bold and the divides kicking off.

It perked Mingi back up. “Well first, there's words of affirmation. Compliments and gentle reminders of the love you have for each other. Then, there's quality time. Where you give someone your full attention, undivided and firm. I think that's Yeosang and Seonghwa-hyung in a nutshell, they're practically glued to each other! Last summer, I remember, Jongho tripped over Yunho's legs when we had visited the swimming pool, right? So, I obviously went to check up on how hurt he was, and he had a gnarly bloody nose. The whole time Yunho and I were trying to get him to stop the nosebleed, Seonghwa-hyung stayed teaching Yeosang to swim! I lost track where you all went. That was the day that--"

“—Mingi, you’re digressing,” Hongjoong kindly mentioned across the ramble.

“Hongjoong-hyung and Wooyoung broke the shower,” San explained of the noted gap in Mingi’s account. “I went in to get my slippers from my locker, and they were fighting against the water that spewed out from the showerhead. I recorded it on my phone, don’t worry.”

“Wow,” Mingi responded, impressed. “I do remember Jongho ran off when Yunho worsened his bleeding by petting down on his nose in apology. He came right back out to us to complain about the puddles in the room.”

San smacked his lips together. Forlorn. “I stepped out when the flooding started. I just needed my slippers, you know. No point in being held to their crime, too.”

“What’s the third love language?” Hongjoong attempted to mediate of them. Wooyoung narrowly missed an opportunity to vituperate San for leaving them.

“That would be receiving gifts! You tend to get the things that you know they will like. Then, after that, you have physical touch," Mingi said. He poked at San, unabashed to the other’s grumpiness. "This is for the more _sensual_ people. They have a hunger for skin, I reckon. It gives them more energy! Touch is their way of expressing themselves.”

“That is San,” Hongjoong and Wooyoung chorused in unison. Confident of it.

Mingi moved toward San. He reached to use both his hands to squish the dark-haired male’s cheeks together. “Here’s a tip: This is how to fit the whole world in your hands!”

San shook him off. He blew a short breath, disgruntled. “Was that _necessary_?”

The younger male shrugged impudently. Wooyoung and Hongjoong’s merry laughter validating his cue to make San bashful was well-received.

“Now, the last love language is my personal favourite. Acts of service, you know. Expressing love by doing something for someone. Taking care of the person you love, naturally.” He summarised the information with a whimsical expression. Settled into the magic it brought.

“I think that’s Hongjoong-hyung,” San brought up.

Hongjoong regarded him in the rear-view mirror with a wink. His eyes crinkled with mirth.

Mingi nodded. “I think that’s our most common language with the eight of us. Protecting one another, making sure everyone is okay. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I think it’s important to have.”

San scrambled to break the silence that settled over them. He beckoned himself forth to prevent elevation to Mingi’s exploration of love, especially within their group dynamic. He held anathema to it. _A heart’s a heavy burden,_ he perceived.

Fortunately for him, Hongjoong underwent a crisis in changing lanes.

The eldest panicked at the mistake he made. He murmured nervously to himself, unsteady.

“Hyung, don’t worry,” Mingi reassured. “Stick to the lane you’re currently in. We can turn back around at the next roundabout up ahead. You’re doing absolutely fine.”

Hongjoong thanked Mingi. The stress alleviated slightly from his shoulders.

“Mingi, why didn’t you drive today?” San’s spoke lowly. A susurrate at the male.

Mingi smiled softly. “Hyung worked really hard to pass his test. I think he really wanted to drive us on a trip. It doesn’t feel right not to have him have a go, he’s so eager to show off.”

San knew Mingi’s intentions were in the right place. The rickety pace of the vehicle and Hongjoong’s darting glance highlighted the unease of his skills.

“Over four hours to the beach,” San mumbled. Repentant to the plans the older males had put together.

The appeal of a road-trip outweighed the logic of flying out to Busan firstly.

The element of their youth made them tender-hearted to it.

“Four hours and a half,” Mingi corrected San with. His experience of the roads evident in the catch of his discernible profile. “Hyung needs to now circle back and restart the journey.”

San lamented his life’s wheel of fortune.

He categorized the negative to be rudimentary, “I suppose this is prime time for you to play your mixtape for us.”

Mingi lit up to that. Like a Christmas tree. “You want to listen to it?” he checked.

San glimpsed that assailable flicker in Mingi’s eyes. The younger male was vulnerable in sharing his art. San reflected, at that moment, how he once was intimated by the other. That sweet, smart, creative Song Mingi. Relentless to practicing, with his burgeoning work ethic. Mingi’s time often limited, with his academic and family obligations, to produce and record.

The lyrics he penned paradisiacal.

“More than you know,” San intoned the genuine truth. When the Incheon native had the confirmation, he bounded from his seat as much as his seatbelt would allow. The red-haired male then urged Wooyoung to quickly connect his phone to the sound system of their car.

It took a few tries for Wooyoung to get them set up correctly completed. The rental vehicle too sophisticated in its advanced technology for all the occupants. San imagined Seonghwa, who had the best grasp for such high-end models, would also flounder and struggle to verify the wireless detection of the phone. It seemed too far-fetched to be practical to anyone.

The first song resonated throughout the space. The installed bass-boosted speakers offered superior reverberation. San never knew how sonorous Mingi’s vocals were before that time. The rapping lucrative in evolution. San listened to the patchwork of the wilful, incorrigible creature confined to the beat. There came a clamour to become visible in its story. To be heard. 

_The happiest people can be hiding such terrible sadness._ San knew rang true.

The music evidence.

The flow of time unlike anything else as the car drove with the morning sun. The soundtrack of Mingi’s tracks spellbinding. No one present even contemplated attempting to speak over the recordings. All too drawn to pay close attention, to immerse themselves into it.

The final song faded out less than half-an-hour after the initial start to the playlist. Mingi smiled so hard it appeared his cheeks ached. He examined each of his friend’s reactions to their first listen. San had no idea what evaluation he got off this judgement of them.

He allowed himself to be ignorant of Mingi’s joy.

“That was really incredible,” San sincerely commented. Goosebumps remained.

Mingi blushed to that, clearly thrilled. “It’s really not. It’s incomplete. It’s lacking a lot, still. I wish I was more experienced to work with composing. Thank you.”

“What do you mean? Mingi, this is unreal!” Wooyoung insisted. The male turned around in his seat to give Mingi a mulish appraisal. “You sounded so cool, really. You’re so talented.”

The compliments were insufferable to Mingi. The red-haired male was awkward to handle the flattery. He severely underestimated how celebrated he’d be by his closest friends.

The linchpin of the males took their turn to review the music. Hongjoong maintained a rigid composure to the task of driving but did not hesitate in giving the detailed speech to the awaiting male. “Mingi, I know you already know what I’m about to say. I know how you put your heart and soul into every song you make. Your versatility and astronomical talent never cease to blow me away.”

“Hyung,” Mingi marvelled. Staggered by that clemency. “Thank you, hyung.”

The older males battled to give Mingi the highest order of laudation. Their tournament ended when they ran out of esteemed vocabulary to equate Mingi’s brilliance to.

After that stage, Wooyoung took up the role of their resident DJ.

A maestro to the songs he elected to turn up in volume. He pretended he heard nothing of opposition to his choices. No matter how much San hollered at him from the back. Hongjoong and Mingi tolerated the music, though unremittingly.

Through it all, between the hysteria and chagrin channelled on the topics they ranged, San kept his smile intact. He soaked up the passion of the others.

The easy-going felicity. He could maintain that fever, he thought. For the rest of his life, and into that of the next.

It meant the world to be at that moment.

They arrived at their destination. Their unprecedented lateness not lost on the other group. One call had been funny to handle, but the three they received from Jongho suggested the friends were distressed by their absence. They had set up their positions on the beach a while before Hongjoong located the place.

The paraesthesia in San’s legs ached. The dark-haired male dragged the limbs to get out to the carpark. He strapped his bag across his chest, the item minuscule enough for him to be comfy. He exercised with low kicks to get his blood flowing.

Wooyoung appeared no better than San. He lugged behind the blithe Mingi. His eyelids dropped down. The espressos Hongjoong had pre-drive kept him lively.

San galvanized with the sights that greeted the group. The scenic mountains. The sprawling beach. Picturesque; to be expected of the coastal city of Busan.

Gwangalli Beach came sharper into his view. The blue water by the land pristine.

The four males jogged along the paved beachfront promenade.

The summer breeze refreshed their senses. Their impatience to find their friends mighty.

Seonghwa balked at them upon their approach. The male not impressed by their tardiness. San paid attention to him, careful to be focused. He stated, « It is later than the set time. »

San apologised to Seonghwa. The language he utilised frequently for him with the oldest male. He admitted his fault and swiftly requested Seonghwa’s forgiveness. Puppy dog eyes galore.

Seonghwa told him enough with his profile. The disappointment lingered.

He gave in, however, to accept San. He opened two fingers of his right fist. He placed them down twice upon his left palm. « I acknowledge this situation. »

San thanked him. He glimpsed Hongjoong on his way over to them. The dark-haired male presumed the older male had an apology to issue to Seonghwa, too. An inevitability.

More likely to be chewed out on account of his driving service being deficient, Hongjoong braced himself. San giggled seeing him bravely puff out his chest. _Ridiculous, hyung._

San gave them both privacy for the talk. He headed over to where Yeosang and Jongho were.

They played on their mobile phones without greeting him. _Brats._

The crescent-shaped beach accommodated numerous individuals that day. Open to the public, July tended to be the busiest month for the location. Families and friends buzzed eccentrically back and forth. San heard faint gossips when groups passed by him.

The wind and waves had him imagine sailors headed out to sea.

Mingi stumbled through the extensive white sand, opting to forgo footwear. He descended onto the blanket with a pained cry. It reverberated in San’s mind, terrible to hear.

“It’s so hot!” the younger male fussed. He crossed to reach the middle of the blanket. Yeosang blew out an annoyed breath. Mingi evaded the jeer. The red-haired male instead concentrated at San. “Did you remember to bring along the sunscreen for us?”

San opened up the bag he carried. The unconventional placement to his front made it challenging to sort through the items. The imposed straps hindered the reach of his arms.

San resorted to taking it off his body to allow ease to plow through the contents. He found the object of Mingi’s desires. He wordlessly tossed it to the male. He made sure to take out a bottle of water for himself, perched from the heat and the drive there.

“Hyung, please share the sunscreen with me,” Jongho bemoaned. The youngest gave Mingi a softened expression. Mingi grumbled but fell victim to the display. Too weak to Jongho.

“Me too,” Yeosang chimed in. He offered no similar charming. His mobile game too important to him to forfeit so much as a second to meet Mingi’s glance, however.

Mingi shook his head at the gall of the other. San watched him begin his routine in the application of the protection, speedy to finish up. The dark-haired male sipped at his drink, knowing he too would require the lotion given the sunshine.

He intercepted Jongho’s turn. The effrontery did not go amiss with the other, who leaped up to charge at San. The older male chuckled when Jongho tried to acquire the item, fierce and headstrong. Yeosang and Mingi ignored them both, too adjusted to the age-old feuding.

Jongho pulled off that acquisition of the sunscreen, though not without some substantial sacrifices. His hair then a crow’s nest and his skin reddened from his exertion to disarm San’s defences. The younger male kept a quiet and cool demeanour, despite that all.

He returned to his place to apply the skin product.

San patted the sand off his clothes. The salt-rich air tasted stronger to him then, having come dangerously close to the water. Jongho played dirty. As per usual for the city boy.

Walking atop the sky. That was his feeling. The frenzied interaction resurfaced nostalgic scenes of those days he’d make Haneul shriek with his unleashed sand on her. In fistfuls. She’d chase San down the length of the beach. Her vexation would simmer into plain amusement by the time she’d catch him. The saccharine nature to their bond steadied.

He’d win forgiveness collecting seashells for her.

Solace came with the fragrance he breathed in. He reminisced over those vivid memories, as though they were just yesterday. Like that summer was eternal, like it never needed an end.

The barrage of emotions made San shot upright to head back to the others. He didn’t want to be sucked into that past for long. Tempting as it would be to do, he pulled himself back.

“Did you apply sunscreen?” Hongjoong asked when San came by his side. San shook his head. He cast a rueful glare to Jongho’s form. The male immersed in his game again.

Yeosang neatened the wayward strands of the younger’s hair.

“Not yet,” San responded. Hongjoong tutted. The older male shifted to gather his own supply of the product from his bag. He moved to San and indicated to the male to be still.

San nodded. He let Hongjoong coat him in the cold lotion.

Hongjoong’s fleeting touch let San explore something inconspicuous in himself.

Disorientated by the gentleness, his perception of the contact contrasted to the feel of anything else he’d known. There was something more heightened in his heartbeat with the way Hongjoong’s fingertips padded across his forehead and checks. The delicacy was a butterfly’s kiss against his skin. He yearned to react to it to make the moment last longer.

Too obtuse yet to have a clear objective as to what to do, San stayed silent. Cherishing the infatuation -- all that was possible.

“There you go,” Hongjoong proclaimed. San opened his eyes to see that the older male grinned at him. The worth of that beauty more than the silver moon in its hidden power.

“Your face and neck are covered up, just do your legs and arms and you’re set,” Hongjoong informed him. He handed the bottle to San, who took it slowly, unsure.

“Thank you,” San mumbled. Meeting Hongjoong’s gaze proved difficult.

He tried to prevent his body from its tremors. He swore the elder granted a conjuration.

No other logic explained that pure unfiltered magic with Hongjoong’s proximity.

“Hyung, did I leave my hat with you?” Mingi yelled over, seeking it desperately. Hongjoong gave San an apologetic look before he went to assist Mingi’s sudden search.

San took a second to get empty his head from all that transpired. He took to finish lathering up with the sunscreen before he securely tucked it back into Hongjoong’s bag.

Afterward, he surveyed where his friends were positioned.

Seonghwa had nestled between Yeosang and Jongho. The eldest brought a book to accompany him, while the online battle raged on between the others. Mingi and Hongjoong were in some frank discussion. San guessed it revolved over Mingi’s misplaced clothing article.

Yunho and Wooyoung were nowhere to be found.

San cast an expectant to the water. He presumed he’d find the pair there, for an invigorating swim. Else, them being disordered; splashing, and hosting contests to see who could hold their breath for the longest time underneath the waves. They were not amongst the large crowds there.

It confused San to take in their absence. He caught Seonghwa’s attention and notified the eldest he’d skive off from the group for a short while. The other male accepted that, although his countenance suggested he wanted to ask further what San was up to.

Nevertheless, San headed straight to the beach’s entrance.

From there, he encountered noise and bustle in the streets. Adjacent to him were alleys. They were fitted out with restaurants, coffee shops, and nightclubs.

San remembered how the city officials pushed to improve the water quality around the beach with the dense tourist population that visited annually.

Without direction, San allowed his feet to wander. He marvelled at the light and shapes of everything that he came across. Musicians positioned somewhere close to him. The croon of their vocals and cacophony of their token instruments swept over San through the air.

Nagged at him. Distractive and irksome to hear.

No beginning and no end. He drifted, curious to when the sun would set for him.

 _I am one terrible idea away from a good one._ San told himself. He rounded the next corner. The undisclosed expanse was enticing to him. Drawn to the unknown, like he floated along.

_One more step. A little more._

_It's time._

He came to a stop.

There. In front of him. The scenery was surreal. The coruscating colours channelled came close to being blinding. The ancient earthen buildings with a rugged lure. San inspected the area closer. His head rang out, the voices that cried there curious. _Reach out and grab it._

“San?”

Quickly, San turned around to the call. Wooyoung stood behind him, confused. The way the younger regarded him as if he was about to pour his heart out.

The relief and affection with enough force to move mountains. San shivered with it.

When San checked over his shoulder, he found there to be nothing but mundane shopfronts. The fantasy he conjured up disappeared. Entirely cut away from him.

“What are you doing?” Wooyoung inquired. His tone uncertain and edged with concern. San faced him again to note that the male looked then bewildered.

“I thought I saw something else,” San confessed. He sounded off to his usual self. Wooyoung’s worry didn’t deserve to be deemed far-fetched, he knew.

He had no choice but to credit his friend with honesty with the care he gave San.

“What was it?” Wooyoung beseeched. San summoned up that faded vision he had to the distorted surroundings. The outline and contour wrong to his mind then.

The simulacrum paled to what once engraved on the map. An otiose echo.

Familiar and foreign to him. That understanding stranger than fiction to San.

“It was like I was just in a dream,” he said. “I was looking for... something. There was just a _need_ to find it, and nothing else. I didn’t care about myself. I just _needed_ to find it.”

Wooyoung nodded along when San spoke. His expression unreadable, bar the grief that hardened the set of his lips and flare to his nostrils. Afflicted, almost. Taken to the tale.

It puzzled San. He fretted, “I haven’t been sleeping well lately. It’s the sleep deprivation getting to me! I need to stop staying up all night playing online games, noona says so too.”

San tried not to come across as shaky. The fear of the delusion razor-sharp.

Quiescent to San’s ramble, Wooyoung appeared taken to be an onus to his nature.

It took another minute until he responded to San. “It was a dream-like reality?”

San frowned. He didn’t want to supply on how _real_ it felt. How it _was_ reality, at least he strongly alleged it so. Wooyoung waited. San gave him a mute nod, feeling foolish.

Wooyoung broke out with a laugh. “Wow, you really fooled me there! I thought you were being serious… Ah, I was really afraid just now. You’re a good actor! You’re convincing.”

The coil that generated the current for Wooyoung’s steeped energy dug into San’s skin. Sore from its twisting. He knew the other lied to him. They were both lying.

They both knew that they were _lying_. It seemed pointless. San hated it.

He tried to fit what his mind and body told him to make sense.

He wanted to return to when he hadn’t encountered the visual and the allure in his wanting.

“They’ll cast me for the next crime thriller.” Detached. The little semblance to how he truly reputed things. The sentence bitter. Worse than ginseng in San’s mouth to taste.

Still, Wooyoung continued to laugh. High-pitch and exultant. Nothing out of the norm when San considered his appearance. The younger male seemed fine.

San committed to himself to let go of the illusion. He threaded through plenty of explanations for it. The heat. His fatigue. His imagination. His loneliness. There all came into play.

“Let’s go, San.” Wooyoung broke San’s reverie. His voice slow, calm.

It soothed San to have the male by his side. The gravity of his situation less daunting. Wooyoung, there. He didn’t say it, though. _I’m not scared anymore, because you’re here._

“Sure,” the dark-haired male agreed. The fire within died down.

He had no further desire to try and figure out what sense his mind had to puzzle him.

The pair walked side-by-side. Their journey back brought them along with more secluded spaces. Wooyoung reached out to grasp San’s hand given the lack of figures in proximity. His lips quirked up at San’s raised eyebrow.

San rubbed his thumb along the back of the male’s hand. The sweet grip peaceful to his soul.

“I need to tell you something.” At San’s bafflement, Wooyoung amended his brash statement. “Later, I mean. Alone, and later. We… I need to talk to you.”

San itched to ask the male to open up there and then. He realised they both had already reached their destination.

In the span of only minutes. San recalled how time seemed to drag on for hours when he searched for Wooyoung and Yunho…

“Yunho,” San uttered, uptight. He scanned the area for a sign of the tall male.

“He made a beeline for the local delicacies,” Wooyoung reported, “He’s probably already sold the vendors’ supply of king crab out. He sounded super psyched over it earlier.”

“You didn’t join him?” San asked. The relief to his system immense. Unclear to know why he’d been so overcome to the prospect his friend had vanished. The vexation faded in the back of his mind. That ache had San anxious. The fear again a parasite to him.

“No, I wanted to spend time with you today.” Wooyoung blinked owlishly at him.

The fondness that struck San too heavy; he wanted to sink to his knees to cope. Instead, he took a reasonable approach. He engulfed Wooyoung in a close hug, snug and warm.

...

“Is your foot okay, Jongho?”

The late afternoon brought a sweltering temperature. The boys resorted to laying around underneath the shade given by their rented umbrellas. They’d been mostly quiet like that, with light-hearted words exchanged here and there. The serenity a blanket to them.

San peered over toward Wooyoung. The male’s gaze fixated on Jongho. The youngest massaged the body part with practised ease. Unfazed to Wooyoung’s stare and question, Jongho replied, “I over-did it earlier, but it’s not painful. It’ll be fine soon.”

Wooyoung nodded at that. His frown reminded. He continued to watch Jongho’s ministrations to alleviate pressure. The light-haired male was scrupulous to him.

“Will it get better?” Inquisitive, Wooyoung picked his neutral tone carefully.

“It _is_ better, hyung,” Jongho told him. Not unkindly. “It’s about being careful now.”

His wry face made San avert his gaze. Jongho thrived since his surgery. The male made leaps and bounds to be healthy and happy, but he knew Jongho’s healing was an uphill struggle.

It wouldn’t be completed, as such, in that lifetime.

It was something Jongho confronted and lived with each and every day of his life.

San knew he should’ve taken Wooyoung aside long ago to detail what happened. The older male hadn’t. It hadn’t been his life, his journey to openly share. Not San’s right to speak of.

Wooyoung wasn’t aware of the circumstances involved at that time. To maintain his own health had been a priority. He’d been in the dark on the toll Jongho had with the injury.

The flashbacks came to San before he could stop them. How Mingi rushed him to the hospital with Jongho. _Jongho, the strongest person he knew, crying worse than a new-born baby._

_San thought he’d pass out from the sheer volume of his tears._

_The younger male blasted that notion away with one simple remark later._

_“I guess I have to look for another future.”_

San glanced at Jongho’s stoic form. The male abandoned that habit of caring for that area around his foot. San could tell Wooyoung opened that door he’d kept under lock and key.

“You never talked about it with me,” Wooyoung pointed out. Vague, Jongho tilted his head to the side to size up the male. Wooyoung remained resolute to his cause. He didn’t hesitate to continue. “I’d like to know what happened if that’s okay. Please, Jongho?”

By that point, San leaned in to hear better. The others hadn’t noticed he was paying attention.

They were too glued in on each other to verify his presence.

For a second, it appeared that Jongho would disagree with Wooyoung, and deny him. His facial features tensed with displeasure. His eyes were then vacant. To San’s surprise, Jongho slowly relented from the anxiety. His expression was less bleak, and more hospitality.

“My first dream vanished like smoke,” the Seoul native began. “My parents took pride in the idea I could be a respected athlete. At first, they didn’t agree. In time, they recognised my potential. I did my best. Practised every day. All those hours outside. The rain, the snow. I did it because it made me come alive. I studied techniques. Analyzed games. Prepared hard. Like tomorrow wasn’t promised.”

“Yunho said it was your ankle,” Wooyoung mentioned. His voice low, careful.

Jongho sighed. His mouth twisted in concentration. “Hyung, I suppose you never heard the official diagnosis,” he acknowledged. “A core tendon in my leg tore during practice, one that ran down to the middle of my foot. I’m not sure what I did, I just know that it took only three seconds before I felt as if my foot was about to shatter. I didn’t know how bad it was affected until later. In my case, surgery had been essential. The damaged tendon needed removal and replacement. There was no other option for me, not as it was back then.”

San made out Mingi’s movement beside him. A glimpse of the younger male’s countenance told him he made out what was being discussed easily.

San reached out to pat the stretch of the male’s shoulders, hoping to help him.

He knew Jongho would not be upset by the audience he had to tell his story. It still left San feeling guilty. Jongho rarely opened up to the past incident. For good reason.

The youngest male committed to telling Wooyoung all he could manage. He whistled. “I tried to deny it for so long. I blamed my body. I hated it. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact my body was a victim, too. I just wanted to be normal, again. To be the same person I was before. All the pity for me made me feel revolting. I had no identity beyond the injury to most people. I didn’t have my life to myself anymore, not as things were going.”

San remembered the fighting. The battles between the friend group, and the one most internalised in Jongho. Wooyoung hadn’t seen those spiteful moments when they’d been at one another’s necks. A sadistic version of Jongho had emerged. It took time to perish him.

San made sure Wooyoung hadn’t known. Selfishly, he kept the male saved from the time.

The light-haired male only really noted when Jongho reached the stage to arch support. It was either San or Yeosang who let him know a summary to Jongho’s career change. How the youngest decided to attend college to prevent himself from all potential physical strain. Wooyoung accepted that, sensing not to ask further insight into how their friend had such a life-altering event occur.

_“I should’ve known,” he whispered to San in their past. San remembered clearly._

_They both watched Jongho taking in an anticipated game on his mobile phone. Jongho scarcely blinked. “What kind of friend am I to have never been there for him? I didn’t know it was this serious for him. How can I say I’m sorry? I can’t. But I am so sorry.”_

_Back then, San rubbed circles along the younger male’s back. “One day, you’ll ask Jongho. He will tell you everything. You… weren’t ready back then to cope.”_

San found it eerie how fast time went. That event had occurred not long ago.

He never fully that the closure to it would come upon their day at the sunny beach.

Mingi pressed closer into San’s touch. It helped San escape those thoughts.

He turned back to where Jongho was speaking. The youngest brightened up.

“--Seonghwa-hyung got through to me. He insisted I come out; I turn up to hangouts. He wouldn’t take no as an answer. He saw through me. I didn’t fully understand. How did he know how I was feeling? He knew better than I did how to handle my emotions. Every step of my recovery. Patient and open whenever I vented, _‘Am I not normal?’_ he once asked me. _‘The language I speak has just been legislated in this country. I can't hear the announcements for airport gates. There are few interpreting centres to teach people to communicate with me. I am told how brave I am. How me pursuing any dreams is so special, because I defy expectations. People think I am limited. Am I human?’_ Hyung educated me, trust me.”

San grinned at that. He raised his head to seek out where Seonghwa had since succumbed to a nap. By his sides, the other males were sound asleep. Yunho and Hongjoong cradled together, and Yeosang taking up most of their shade. They appeared cosy, without a worry. _Good._

At least that portion of conversation would remain private to those awake.

“—a second dream?” San caught onto the end to Wooyoung’s next question.

“Don’t laugh,” Jongho warned, though not without true threat. “I don’t really know if it’s a dream that’s gone. Not yet.” He hummed, self-deprecating. “I mean, who really knows?”

“What is it?” Wooyoung’s extroverted nature had his prod. His eyes shined brightly.

“I kind of had this hope to be on stage,” Jongho admitted. His timbre was warmer. “At first, I pictured myself there. Then Hongjoong-hyung practically yanked me to record for him, and to save time he propped me up with San-hyung’s stinking breath there too. I realised, looking at hyung like that, I liked it. I wanted to do it again. To perform together.”

San stopped his contact with Mingi at that twist to the conversation. Mingi turned to face him. The younger male equalled his shock to the bombshell, equally caught off-guard.

“Does San know?” Wooyoung lowered his volume. San kept himself still.

“Hyung doesn’t have dreams like that,” Jongho told him. The regret coloured his tone. “Sometimes, it’s better not to dream. Sometimes, dreams hurt you more.”

Yeosang told San one time that people could not make claims about the nature of reality. It had been odd, the way Yeosang breached the topic with that when San asked of him what he believed. The older male was an enigma to what he stood by. However well-motivated mathematically or philosophically,

Yeosang assessed, there was nothing for them, as humans, to the decree for beliefs to be.

Yeosang had not been depressed in that train of thought. On the contrary, he seemed happy. San envied that. The male had no yearning to figure out the way things worked. He just allowed them to be. San longed for that same attitude, to be a different person.

He hadn’t crossed that threshold. Whenever he came close to it, the doubts came back stronger. San would spend those nights restlessly. He couldn’t shake off how to be himself, and to be that person in his mind too.

Often, he couldn’t distinguish who is the real San.

Wooyoung made a noise in disagreement at Jongho. “Why can’t it be achieved?”

San struggled to hear the reply. The youngest practically bordered to talk in a whisper. “I still think about how far-fetched it would be to audition. Would they accept me, a person who cannot dance like those shining idols? How can I ask my friends to give up on everything destined of them since birth? Drop everything your family wants and follow into a path that might lead to ruins. Without you, I don’t want it. I’ve realised how empty it is in this world alone.”

The negative social stigma associated with vocational careers and not having a university degree. Deep-rooted in San’s psyche. The reciprocation of his family’s love rendered San victim to forgo any forthright and righteous nature.

Too many occasions where he forcibly ignored extreme injustice. To give merit to music.

He bowed his head down. The ridiculous flaunting of wealth around him. He had no time to linger upon it. In time, the conversation between Wooyoung and Jongho ended. There only existed the background noise in the other individuals that surrounded the group.

San spent time trying to lapse into sleep, but all his burning questions kept him too alert to relax. He kept trailing back to typing that rejection to the company’s request for him to audition. How he stared hard enough at his computer monitor that his vision blurred from the display light. His fingers felt wrong to himself in their motion, when he began the polite decline.

He spoke nothing of it to Jongho.

There’d been an inexplicable part of San that refused to tell the male about it.

It hadn’t settled to him, in the time that went by. Like a scab still unhealed.

San was relieved when the other boys returned to activity, thus distracting him from his mind. He hurried along to partake, smiling and jesting like he was no wiser to all he knew then. Mingi, likewise, acted nonchalant throughout things. 

Soon enough, the late afternoon changed into the early night.

The bright lights of Gwangandaegyo Bridge stretched across the horizon.

The majestic beauty in that illuminated suspension bridge superb. Perfect to behold.

The fun and games didn’t refrain with how the sun went down. The males acted to journey with a promise made in mind. No one would take them down from their high.

The fun and laughter too pure and real to come undone for them.

San believed that he, dedicated to perpetuating the idea, could make it a truth.

That chimera livened in plumeria fancy. Up in the clouds, San came back down though unwillingly.

He recognised he was being sentimental. His energy winded-down. His heart full.

Unable to attest to their strength to obstacles, San still held on to his faith in the group. In a place where flowers bloom as them. They swallowed the darkness.

The eight boys. Together, in a ray of light. The idealisation substantive to San.

They played the song to make fireflies dance. The rapture to their bond warm. 

“Happy birthday!” Hongjoong practically shoved the cake into his face. San had narrowly avoided getting cream along his chin. He happily blew out the candles, delighted to it.

They were one of the few bodies who stayed to the location after the sunset. Notorious to their testimony for the special day, they made no plans to leave too quickly from the space.

They’d be escorted by public law enforcement before letting the party end, Jongho claimed. Hongjoong ruffled the youngest’s hair back at that.

He let Jongho know that they’d be gone in the next twenty minutes. _Without arrests._

Amid the cheers, San’s glance landed to the most composed in the loud group. Seonghwa stretched out the thumb and index finger of his right hand. He placed them close by his throat, then pushed them down to join together in touch.

« _Wish._ » San repeated the eldest’s communication to himself. He smiled.

Too many aspirations San longed to have fulfilled. To be with his parents. To help his sister. To protect his family name. To sing and dance again.

He could count ten desires easily; twenty at a push, and a hundred if he actually contemplated them with greater depth. To pick just one made him foolish, naïve.

That tradition to make a wish, though, evaded his cynicism to the matter. With Seonghwa’s urge, San dutifully shut his eyes. He let himself think. To wonder.

Too indescribable to let be concrete. _Everything I know is being with you._

Desperate, yet sweet. _I believe in the long-time fate; I believe in eternity._

The principal hope that anchored him predictable if his friends knew of it. That secret his to keep. He was glad that no one got to learn to what he wished for.

It didn’t take long until Yunho tackled San into a tight hug. The taller male forgot about the cake, balanced precariously in San’s hands. It toppled to the sand, into a huge heap.

Yunho apologised profusely. His blushing overt. The annoyance at his clumsiness then initiated prompt action. San soon entertained with how Jongho, Mingi and Wooyoung collected existing icing off from the smashed cake layers to posit onto Yunho’s exposed skin.

The oldest male cried out in dismay to the punishment.

“I hope your wish wasn’t that the cake tasted good,” Yeosang enlarged the set humour with. The light-haired male played upon the prospect for a comedy of errors. “I mean, it was a pretty good tasting cake. I hope. Actually, I don’t hope now. Given it’s not just on the ground, but also mixed with the erosion of rocks. That isn’t appetising.”

“Thank you,” San replied. “That’s helpful to this dilemma. It’s useful… to know.”

Yeosang, taken with the granular substance, talked again on that subject, “There are a billion trillion stars in the visible universe, and that is more grains of sand on all the beaches of planet Earth… Twice as many stars exist, approximately.”

The mind-bending possibility of all those stars existing in the universe. San dwelled to that end. Intrigued by Yeosang’s sand-related fact.

When he looked at the shore, he couldn’t comprehend that actuality.

The coast quantity was absurd.

The universe they were within even _more_ absurd. At least, it seemed to him.

San sighed. He dropped the remnants for the cake’s housing. The cardboard box empty, yet heavy in his hold. The other males occupied still with their revenge to notice him.

San peeked to where the eldest males stood. Hongjoong and Seonghwa kept a close eye on the proceedings that occurred. Timid to interact.

The threat to be covered in dessert rendered them both to simply gape at the unfolding scenes.

Yeosang noted San’s disparity. His grin receded. Eyes sympathised with San.

“I don’t want right now to be over,” San confessed. He surprised himself with the whisper. It came out steeped in emotion. The weight close to a break down, impossible to stop.

“There will be more days,” Yeosang said. “Like this one. For us. You don’t have to be afraid of losing these memories or thinking this will be the last time, San-ie.”

San wanted to let the older male reassure him. He struggled to trust in himself.

“You’re always busy,” he started, unable to hold back, “You. Seonghwa-hyung. Yunho. You have all this pressure and work to get through, and I already feel us drifting apart. It’s only going to get worse, too. You all have this great burden of responsibility to uphold. Then, Jongho and Mingi are always studying, always doing whatever intern work they can. Until today, I hadn’t seen them since the summer break started. It’s been weeks! It’ll start to turn into _months_ , then…”

“We’re older now, San-ie,” Yeosang reminded him. His tone sad, albeit mature. Like he knew better than to let that sorrow reach his words. “We’re growing up.”

The tears stung at San. He found it funny how pensive he acted. What, with his birthday being the point for their gathering. The sacrifices they all made to be there. As eight.

The road trip, the excitement. It had been all for him to enjoy.

Yet, he was suddenly miserable. It all ended so soon. It felt cruel.

The firefly. So potent in its fragility, its brevity. That melancholy foible. Where San’s sternum grew vines. Those thorns penetrated his ribs; harsh as needles. They breached through that sponge-like organ of his. His lungs but one infirmity.

The others grew silent. The roughhousing ceased between the younger males. They carefully watched the other two. San guessed they sensed the tension that rippled out from him and Yeosang’s conversation. They connected how impactful the end of the day was for San.

His imparted aggravation impossible to deny.

He knew he ought to end his pity party. He knew he was being irrational.

He smiled at Yeosang. The face fit an imposter. The cheeriness synthetic.

“Thank you.” His voice was hoarse. The catch in San’s breath weakened his last standing pillar of dignity. With a student noise, mixed between laugh and sob, he ran.

He didn’t want to give Yeosang a chance to reach out to him. Not then.

Impulsive and one-tracked mind. San didn’t know why he made the mistake. His heart throbbed. His head was woozy. The unsteadiness hit him square in the chest.

Haneul came to his mind. She’d be fuming to know how terribly he treated his friend. To charge away from him in such a distressed state. _Choi San, you fool. Turn back, now._

A year older that day. More petulant than a spoilt child. San defied expectations.

San’s leg muscles cramped up, not even a full minute after he fled. He bent over to calm himself down. Wiped harshly at his cheeks. His self-loathing heightened.

He stumbled into the vacant alleyway he’d passed before. There, he relaxed.

 _Huh._ The edges were hazy in his maze of memories. _This looks almost identical to that place back in Seoul. How many years has it been? Since that fated day…_

He recounted that incident. It rained back then. His clothing had been drenched.

It hadn’t bothered him, not in the slightest. Too occupied to check that pulse.

“You don’t have to hide.”

San startled at the speaker. He lifted his head in the direction of the male.

Hongjoong approached him. Without missing a beat, he reached out. He cradled San close. He let the younger male cry in his grasp. The wetness pressed into Hongjoong’s shirt.

The fabric soaked through with tears. Hongjoong didn’t let go.

“To heal,” the older male told San, “you have to first feel pain. It’s okay.”

San gasped out in short breaths. Desperate to reclaim ownership in his upset.

He clung to Hongjoong. He wanted to then tell him what resonated in his being.

Swallowed by that feeling. He lost himself to that pull. Too tired to fight it.

That craving for the other male uncontrollable. 

Hongjoong pulled back to assess San’s face next. The pair leaned heavily against each other. Mystified by the flit to the older male’s eyelashes, San stared at him, hopeful.

The night dark, unlike the day. The males as constellations; stars to each other.

The world spun. San swore he was not breathing. His lung function impaired.

The first time San pressed his lips forward, they connected to the very corner of Hongjoong’s mouth. The contact was chaste. Timorous, like the flight of butterflies.

Hongjoong recoiled back. In that hesitation, San heard his own heart pounding.

The Anyang-born male gazed at him. San thought he could see every inch of his being. His eyes seemed to inspect more than San’s physicality; they reached beyond that.

Hongjoong beamed at him. Incandescent despite the shadows that cloaked his form.

San understood why people commented that fireworks came to life with a kiss.

When Hongjoong kissed him, the colour outburst in his world was undeniable.

Those lips on lips. The electric feel ubiquitous to all San then perceived in the instant.

He gradually closed his eyes. Allowed himself to embrace the sensation. Slowly, San’s mind kick-started up again. He trailed a timid hand up along Hongjoong's neck.

He moved to trace the elder's jawline. His little touch as soft as feathers.

San didn’t know if it were him or Hongjoong who swiped their tongue first to deepen the kiss. All he knew then was that decisive steer to the friction he felt.

San guessed Hongjoong detected his emotions. The strangled noise that the younger released into the older male’s mouth might have clued him in on them. Humiliation was forgotten.

Soon, they came apart. Hongjoong ducked his head down and relented quick breaths. Pressed close to San, the younger male felt how unsteady Hongjoong’s body was.

The spark to the shared exchange alive, thrumming in their blood.

The relish pulsated through San’s form, but he managed to keep his body stilled.

When he gathered back his composure, Hongjoong gazed at San. The male’s pupils were blown wide. His irises reduced to thin rings. San grew dizzier to know _he_ had done that.

It seemed that Hongjoong waited for San to press on with the motions. To close the space between them that was still too great. San knew perfectly well how his fingers could clutch at the older male’s tresses. To fall into sweetness again, to let himself become delirious.

“There you both are.”

The pair jumped at that. The words lacerated the trance they’d been under.

“Mingi wanted to call a search party.” The tone flat. “I’ll let him know you’re both fine. We need to get going. It’s already too late. We have a long drive ahead.”

San swallowed, praying the heat in his cheeks was invisible in the night. “Yeosang, I’m sorry about running off. It wasn’t my intention to do that—”

Yeosang appeased him then. Evenly, he scanned San up and down. His mouth quirked into something that resembled frustration, but he didn’t let it win over. “It’s fine. I’m not upset. We can talk things through later. Don’t worry about it. We need to get a move on, okay?”

The male tapped on his phone; his brows furrowed in concentration. When he finished, he helped lift San from the ground. Hongjoong ambled himself up to a presentable posture.

The eldest did not utter a single word when Yeosang began to march back to where the others were. He exchanged a curious look with San.

San shrugged. His confusion steadied him enough to just follow Yeosang. The silence to their walk new to grapple. San thought he was a criminal. The way Yeosang regarded him, in short capacities, each time their eyes met unnerving.

He tried to reason why his friend behaved reserved. Unlike himself to be stony.

 _Did he see anything?_ San pondered. _If he did see, why isn’t he happy for us?_

They came to a halt a few meters away from where the others were stood.

“Wooyoung’s going to switch places with Yunho,” Yeosang informed them both.

He didn’t even grant them a further goodbye. His job was done by locating them and bringing them back. San trained his eyes on him, as the male left them to where the group for his vehicle awaited. The bile acrimonious to taste in his mouth, but San pushed onward.

“Did we do something wrong?” he asked Hongjoong. The older male gave nothing away with his expression. He appeared calm; his features relaxed. San tried to replicate the state.

“You did nothing wrong,” Hongjoong comforted. “We just need to give Yeosang space. He’s probably processing things and wants to work through it himself. He might be confused.”

San concluded his apology was insufficient to make up with Yeosang for earlier. That seemed to be a fair consequence for him to infer. He’d have to do better. As a friend.

He nodded, grateful to Hongjoong’s advice. He searched the shapes to try and identify Wooyoung, but to no avail. It seemed the younger male was already in his new car, destined to go home. The hurt San received with that fact startling.

 _Yeosang and Wooyoung._ The pair ignoring him added up. They were close, their connection uncompromising. San, now an outsider. No belonging to them.

Their obvious contempt to have him present unravelled the security he once relied on.

“Let’s go!” Mingi shouted. He spotted the loitering pair, tipped off when Yeosang brushed past him. Thankfully, the red-haired male had no reservations with San, at least outright.

Hongjoong reached out to grasp San’s hand in his. He grinned after he then discovered the action left the younger male awestruck. The whimsy was bright.

“Am I not speaking Korean? I should try to communicate with them in English, it might work on them,” Mingi stated loudly to Yunho. The pair with mock disconsolation to their faces.

True to his word, Mingi cleared his throat and yelled at them the same sentiment as before. His English begrudging. When San and Hongjoong failed to respect him for his efforts, Mingi threatened to attempt to bug them through speaking in every language he knew.

Yunho managed to place a hand over the younger male’s mouth right before he started to hiss out threats in Spanish, thankfully.

San starved off laughter by covering his mouth. Hongjoong giggled beside him.

“I lost the bet,” Yunho whined. He directed it at Mingi. San frowned; his mind jumbled.

He recalled Wooyoung those few weeks ago.

_It’s just a stupid bet._

The brunette wailed a second later. “Mingi, don’t lick my palm! What the—”

Mingi, tactically to escape Yunho’s treatment, huffed. “It tasted like sweat.”

Somehow, the four males came to finally enter their vehicle. It had been a close call they’d reach the verdict to do so. The various debates had taken over their goal to ready themselves to leave. San tried not to grow disheartened back the lack of farewell from the others. He understood his fault, but it hit hard to know they had nothing to say to him.

The exit they made, so easily, hurt him a lot.

Mingi helmed the wheel this time. Yunho sat by his side in the front.

That let Hongjoong and San settle in the back. The respite in their positions welcomed.

“Happy birthday, San-ie,” Hongjoong told him. The older male patted his head, his smile wide and beautiful. San thanked him.

He took the opportunity to nestle into the other’s lap. Hongjoong unable to protest at how brazen he was being.

The journey home through the night and the chatter of his friends peaceful.

_“--Space is broken into patches. The properties differ from patch to patch. They span all physical possibilities. In a universe of this size, it is almost certain that there is an identical copy of you somewhere out there in the multiverse.”_

_The boy gripped his pencil tightly. The force was almost enough to break it._

_“—Do you understand?” The tone was cold. Lifeless._

_The child stared ahead._

_“Answer.” The boy, then afraid. His bottom lip trembled._

_“…”_

_Cut._

_Begin._

_“—I understand.” Numb. He’d been numb, all along. Engineered to be empty._

_“Good.”_

_Cut._

_Begin._

_“Step one, two, three and one, two, three.” He hummed. Fragile._

_He was beautiful. Too beautiful to exist in something that ugly._

_Cut._

“—need to wake up. We’re at your place now. Wait, why are you crying?”

San touched his right cheek. Hongjoong was right. Moisture was present there.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, unsettled. The shapes and sounds fading for him.

The dream already vanished from his memory when he blinked again.

**...**


	5. Chapter 5

**...**

THE SCENT OF BAKED GOODS WAFTED THROUGH THE AIR IN THE STREET.

The person who held them paid no attention to the stares he received. No single passer-by thrilled to trail their eyes after him. Their hunger pangs were prominent.

San wiped the sweat from his forehead. The heat was unbearable.

He dressed in casual attire, the clothing loose to let his skin breathe. The weather made it impossible to remain dry.

The sun beamed down on Seoul with a vengeance.

The dark-haired male side-stepped with the slew of people that came close. The area busy with people that occupied different roles. San pitied those who walked in layered wear. The suits sentenced those entities to a grim punishment.

He strolled into his destination with triumph. The place embraced the natural lighting of the day to be inviting. San was supremely thankful that the air conditioner was in full swing with its operation. The stickiness he felt made the breeze seem divine to him.

“Did you get me anything?”

San smirked at the female. Exiting one of the rooms, she immediately noticed the male with the elaborate logo-donned bag. Her excitement conveyed well.

“I might have gotten noona a cookie or two,” San mentioned, voice casual.

The woman squealed in delight. “As expected, you are a reliable one.” She came close to dancing. Her pure heart matched the temperament required by her students to learn and prosper.

San reveled in the praise. He simply bowed his head. “It’s the least I can do.”

The other shook her head, her smile genuine. “You do a lot for us here.”

Before San had a chance to respond to that, someone interrupted them both.

“Sooyoung, where’s the stapler?! I’ve been looking everywhere for it!”

Sooyoung gave a bemused sigh. She winked to San; her profile strained. “Minju-unnie needs me,” she told him, “Please protect my cookies from the others. They’re so greedy!”

San demonstrated his compliance with the order with a respectful nod. Sooyoung snorted at the benevolence he showed. She waved to him brightly before she headed off to her business.

San scanned around to check whether other figures were there. He found no one outright visible nearby.

He anticipated that much. They all tended to remain in the rooms.

Working nonstop. Lunch, an afterthought they never got around to.

When Seonghwa told him that he had taken up a slot to help out, San visited him to wish him luck.

He hadn’t intended to be involved in the running to the community there as such.

With his time off, San filled his free days with interviews for part-time work and hanging around to see his friends. His mornings for study. His afternoons shared with Seonghwa. He spent most of his nights together with Hongjoong and Mingi.

The pair were working on a new music project. Mingi found ingenious ways to come to aid Hongjoong. He evaded the surveillance of his father. San, glad just to watch them.

He’d bug the eldest for more attention when the dire need arose. Hand holding a priority.

Times came where Hongjoong seemed adamant to centralise on his newly-created songs. San began to truly see the extent to which the elder engrossed himself in his art form. Adherent to giving a sum of himself to the pieces he created, cherished.

San esteemed how it made the male become a legend. That identity he inhumed to his music unable to be forgotten.

Hongjoong existed eternal to the melodies. It was magical to San.

Mingi would often pull San aside to ask him to lower the PDA and outright cooing over Hongjoong around him. San blushed and rejected the idea he’d be that forward with his affection.

That had Mingi repeatedly tell him how the pining escalated such that San went on page lengths about how pretty Hongjoong’s eyes were. San agreed to try and be more tolerable. The cycle repeated, though.

Like that, the next college semester was fast approaching San. In all that time, he was social and productive.

That mounting poignancy did not stop inside him, though.

Haneul was hardly home. She barely had time to shower, much less greet San.

She still fought to come in late and maintain he had meals but gave little effort to eat herself. San sensed there’d be an eruption of volcanic proportion with the magnitude of that trouble if things continued that way. He wanted to get some form of income to reduce the dark circles that Haneul tried to conceal from him.

San tried to write notes to her. He balled them up every time. _We can move out, noona. Somewhere smaller. Somewhere affordable. Please, noona. I miss you._

His mother called him yesterday. She apologised that they still had no birthday gift to send to San. San’s father had to take over the phone when she started to cry. He promised San that everything would be alright. Things just needed time. They’d come back to Seoul soon.

_Work hard. We’re proud. We love you._

Yunho and Jongho messaged him every few days. Their words were bright and funny. They shared typical drivel. San would even mute them with their meme content, which was colossal.

They reminded him what it was to still be but a twenty-something year old, up against the world. Without their push, he forgot what it was to laugh those days.

But San had not spoken to Yeosang and Wooyoung since the beach trip.

Their silence the loudest to him. Nothing compared to it.

Hongjoong worked hard to give San the space to ruminate. The older male a cognitive behavioural therapist of sorts. He’d been open and willing to help San allow himself to share what crippled him when alone.

Hongjoong, a lighthouse. That beacon of brightness to him.

But the storms made that beacon irretrievable at times. San lost to the sea.

The children that needed to be seen at the centre were more than the place could manage. The staff had to stretch out to accommodate them as best they could.

Strung across like Play-Doh, to be kind. The adults yanked into all directions to reach all objectives to help.

San trained his gaze to the classroom windows. He discovered where the older male was located, stood at the front of the room inside.

The younger male observed how he taught the seated children how to communicate with each other about their favourite toys.

Seonghwa shone brightly in that space. His smile was radiant.

Deciding to message his friend later, San began to back away toward the staff room.

He had no such luck slipping away from sight.

Seonghwa noticed him.

The elder made to encourage him to join them. His message made the students turn to in place to inspect San there. The young male awkwardly greeted them.

With a resigned sigh, San entered into the cheery space. The poor bakery items were long-since cold. He had no choice but to set them down upon the desk in front.

He introduced himself to the group. They were vehement upon discovering his fluency with the language. Their animation was fervid enough that San became shy.

Seonghwa calmed the more enthusiastic ones down. His fondness was evident. He clapped his hands together twice, wholeheartedly saying, « My friend _._ »

San knew it was a simple term. It carried a value he couldn’t even begin to detail.

Something firm settled in him, gratitude he knew for no one else.

Eroding away better judgment, San stayed for the rest of the allocated time.

It felt incredible to learn about the children, to watch how Seonghwa treated them.

Patient to explain grammar, Seonghwa made sure everyone was on the same page before he progressed onto a new point. His comprehensive curriculum held firm with his methods to teach. The children paid close attention to the male. His use was of visual technology notably skillful to keep them enthralled in their learning.

San settled to the side-lines. He jumped in whenever the opportunity arose. Mostly, he took to watching how Seonghwa cruised through the goals for the day. He never fumbled. He jettisoned any reservations to his ability in favour of maintaining the respect the students had thrust upon him.

It was remarkable.

The laughter lines the lesson brought out in the older male splendid. His humility and diligence clear to see. His willpower made San flare up with utmost pride.

When the children filtered out and were safely collected by their guardians, San and Seonghwa finally received time to chat amongst themselves. The older male graciously ate a dessert from the selection of San’s purchases offered. He told San that he’d been famished since the morning. The start to his day far from ideal with how much he had to plan ahead.

San left quickly to then place the rest of the treats into the staff room. He tacitly prayed that the youngest, that sweet Yang Jeongin, would stick to the note San made sure to leave there.

 _To our angel:_ _Leave some yakgwa for the others~!_

When San returned to Seonghwa, the older male was skimming over a plethora of files scattered about his desk. San saw the documents were rather eloquent in their structure and print. Trite to read. The official conditions Seonghwa had to comply with for the centre tedious.

San considered that aspect tepid overall. Seonghwa never fretted over it.

Non-profit and funded solely by donations. A wonder the location stood. People were far from stupid to acknowledge the ordeals overcome by the place. Anyone could see how much was put to simply keep the doors open, grant families access to resources. The formalities formatted to disguise his name. Intentions not to be humble.

Seonghwa couldn’t reveal to his colleagues he was _the_ Park Seonghwa.

Son to the most well-known and influential person in South Korea.

People often had something obvious stare them in the face, but still mistook the signs. That was a sentiment San experienced in seeing Seonghwa blend in there.

When San traced over one printed page, he noticed Seonghwa’s phone lit up. It had been set down beside the piled papers, balanced near the desk’s edge.

San didn’t intend to pry, but that short glimpse he took was stolen before he realised it. The notification indicated its sender proudly: Yeosang.

Seonghwa paused, lifting his hands from their position. San thought the older male would take up his device to respond to the message.

He failed to imagine what actually happened in the following scene that came to be between them.

Seonghwa glanced at San. His profile was solemn.

The older male then opened his right hand then and placed it close to his right temple. Palm open, fingers spread out. San heeded his words numbly when the older male moved his fingers up and down alternately. His hand moved outward.

San contemplated that. He knew he’d be foolish to disagree with what the other alleged.

The elder pinned him down.

He _did_ love and _want_ to see Yeosang a lot.

Right fist with the palm faced out. In front of his chest, San bent that chosen wrist. His nod steadfast, his mouth braced to a firm line. « Yes _._ I miss him. »

Seonghwa gave him some lip quirk. The one he reserved for such circumstances like that. San dubbed it to be the _‘you’re more transparent than water’_ reaction.

Maybe, that wasn’t quite the right way to describe it.

Something more high-stakes, maybe. San like Icarus; flew too high and close to the sun, to be more fitting. Wings of wax melted. The ugly and disdainful fall moulded more to his predicament. There wasn’t an actual collision to describe for him. That susceptibility that raged inside to where he’d soon land.

Seonghwa shook his head. The dark fringe obstructed his vision until he pushed it back.

At San’s confusion, he huffed. His actions more livened up, the facial element was more exuberant. « No. _He_ misses _you_. That’s what I was saying. »

San scratched at his nape when he translated the language to his first one. He sheepishly apologised afterward; his limbs stiff to excuse himself. He admitted he let himself be pulled into where he thought the elder would steer things, less inclined to realise what was the actual state of affairs Seonghwa settled with.

Seonghwa acted to be consul. He smoothed over. Didactically, « You’re fools. »

The hub to San’s vocabulary supplied plenty, but the male took to the most predictable.

He placed the end of his index finger of his right fist, on his right temple. He lowered the fingertip downward while he opened the rest of his fingers alongside the motion. He jutted out his bottom lip. That reflection in realising his fault, the reproach apparent in his rebuke. « I repent to you. »

Seonghwa considered San’s apology. With that pause, another alert displayed on the screen of his phone. This time, San swallowed back the malady that clawed.

A mutiny underneath his skin. San longed to overturn the coldness it brought.

Wooyoung’s message disappeared when the brightness died back down.

Seonghwa took in how San reacted. It would’ve been unnerving to have someone examine him cursory had it not been Seonghwa.

The older male presented no motive other than compassion. His focus on San caring and cautious. Like San was a frightened rabbit.

But San was tired. His episode at the beach hebetudinous with his present self.

He possessed no more patience. He held out past his breaking point. San came to think that Yeosang and Wooyoung owed it to him to explain what he’d done to deserve their disconnect. He evaluated past events until they became warped.

 _If they are holding any grudges, they should tell me directly._ Their inability to communicate what San had done was unfair.

The more San weighed it up, the more betrayed he felt. Never had he ever been left in the dark within their friendship.

San _resented_ them. Struck by their divide. What he established to reason out their actions didn’t suit that picture to the psychology of the males he once felt was true. The fact the others in the group didn’t jive with the mentality the pair had was strange. The select avoidance to San muddled with his thought process.

Seonghwa confused San even more. He acted in the same manner with San as he always did.

The older male spoke nothing contrarily until that present about the elephant in the room. It left San unsure of what was the full story to things.

Their circle couldn’t go on as it was. Reconciliation or separation had to follow.

San just wanted answers.

The lack of communication had him second-guessing everything. His pertinacity to think his friends would crack first to reach out to him weakened. He admitted his fault in not trying to resolve things earlier.

He wished he knew what made his friends leave him behind and without a care.

This time, Seonghwa picked up his phone. The older male took a minute to review what San presumed had to be the messages from both Wooyoung and Yeosang.

It kept San on edge to see how Seonghwa perked up at them.

The bitterness had San inch his head away. Soon, Seonghwa held up a hand to recapture his attention.

The elder beamed. It caught San completely off-guard.

In lieu of explaining himself, Seonghwa handed him over the device. At San’s frown, he merely pushed the younger male to focus on the alight phone screen.

San grumbled. Age hierarchy pushed him to do Seonghwa’s bidding. The case with Hongjoong the very same. The two eldest in the group unrivalled like that.

San acknowledged it didn’t help matters he loved them dearly to deny them.

The given conversation shared between Wooyoung and Seonghwa. San scrolled through generic messages.

The trendy KakaoTalk stickers were popular in their chat.

San’s brain nearly short-circuited when a pattern began to emerge. The shocked male verified the dates and times to what Wooyoung forwarded on to Seonghwa.

The past few days became addled up for him to take in. He hurried back over the content. The shame consumed him when he re-read Wooyoung’s words.

They were far removed from the perception San had of the younger male.

Every day he asked Seonghwa how San was doing.

He questioned if San was eating well. Checked in to see if San was in a good mood. Asked was San taking enough breaks from studying. Requested to know when San was accepted for interviews. Spoke about how he heard a song that he wanted to recommend to San, but he knew he had to hold back.

He discussed how he missed his friend, in every colour of life. Subtle and calm, apparent and tensed. Everything stored within the messages signified that.

San’s name came to be the biggest keyword to the volume of messages. That didn’t even include all iterations of his nicknames, even.

The male existed to be the most dominant aspect of the conversations held. San this, San that.

Wooyoung even managed to get down a certified time to message Seonghwa to breach the subject of how San was each day. It coincided with when San usually visited Seonghwa when San investigated it. The affection Wooyoung held to him, in that private esteem with Seonghwa.

Glaringly obvious then. Enough to burn San, almost.

How much he misunderstood Wooyoung’s heart. The male clearly hadn’t stopped contact with San by choice.

San remained unclear on what necessitated Wooyoung to be closed off. He reflected on how it also hurt Wooyoung for them to be apart. _We're the same._

For a moment, San let himself take the blame. In part, his mistake. He’d been careless and self-absorbed. He should’ve known Wooyoung better.

When his glance veered over to Seonghwa, the male looked a cross between weary and amused. He promptly took back the phone, his gaze full-on to San.

San guessed Seonghwa somehow dialled into his thoughts.

The light that shone from Seonghwa beckoned to San. The older male held merit in his face; his softened features told San that he wasn’t alone. Seonghwa, with an innate power to restore harmony in the group. San should’ve known that it’d be Seonghwa who’d get him back on track. The eldest always took care of them.

San gave a weak smile to Seonghwa. The true light came through. Like fate.

He and Wooyoung would be okay. Somehow, like that. The relief was immense to him.

Clueless still to Yeosang’s feelings. San coveted to know them exactly.

He gave Seonghwa a considerable pout. Readied to construct some bridge to the topic.

A shuffle at the door startled San. He looked to see a young boy enter the room. Abruptly awkward. His grin infectious. He quickly bowed to San and Seonghwa.

The teenager opened out the index and middle fingers of his right fist. He tapped the wrist of his left fist with those fingers twice. He proceeded to change with his right hand to offer a thumbs-up, placing it upon the open palm of his left hand.

San chuckled at that. Although he adjusted to Seonghwa’s students referring to him as « Mr. Park » exclusively, Seonghwa’s embarrassment humoured him.

« Hello, Kangmin _._ » the elder greeted him. San followed suit; movement swift.

Kangmin bowed again. Habitually. The altruism embedded into his very skin.

San took it as the time for him to leave. He gave the newcomer courtesy first. The male faced Seonghwa next. The staidness the elder showcased riveting to San. 

« It’s Wooyoung’s day off _._ » Seonghwa informed him. San smiled.

He opted not to respond that he already knew. The bakery logo had been visible on the bag. A favourite. The elder either oblivious or funny. San wouldn’t brave going there unless Jung Wooyoung was absent. Cowardly.

He’d have to admit that. Instead of talking to highlight those details, the younger male nodded to the fact. Perfectly modest. He promised to contact Seonghwa later. The elder shooed him outside. He took that guarantee more to be a threat.

Had the audacity to complain to Kangmin, who viewed San amicably, that the male was a nuisance in his co-dependency.

San stuck out his tongue to his friend. He raced to the door before Seonghwa could react.

A previous victim to the elder’s wrath when he’d become annoyed.

The sound signalled the door shut behind San. The dark-haired male hummed to that. He headed to exit the centre.

A million plans ran by in his mind for the day.

All involved Wooyoung.

The common denominator to each fiction San hosted.

San practically skipped along his way. It was time to finally see his best friend.

...

Mingi hated Tuesdays.

More correctly, he hated what Tuesdays became for him.

The day in itself largely inoffensive to him. Another twenty-four-hour entry in to tackle out of the other six that came about.

Every day similar to the last. The male recognised that. He longed for the late-night escapades. The rush of endorphins when he tasked himself to run. The human sensation of free will.

Mingi knew it existed not as a particle that could be described. All men had stars, in the scheme to his musings.

But the stars possessed unique meaning to those who bore witness to them.

Tuesdays. Miserable with an extra sprinkle of abhorrence for Mingi. Tuesdays meant he had two-hours’ worth of his English tutoring. An abysmal period.

“Noona,” he complained about the nth time. “This language makes no sense! Why must the spelling be different and the meaning different but then how you pronounce the word the same? Who came up with that? It’s ridiculous, really.”

The female sighed at Mingi’s ramble. She brushed her long hair behind her ear. “Listen, I know it’s a challenging concept.” She paused; her eyes skimmed over the notes in front of her. She lifted her pencil to then circle the word, clarifying in Korean for the English, “'Lead’ can mean to guide someone, and ‘lead’ can also mean the metal. It depends on whether you mean the verb or the noun. The context of where you have it is very important.”

Mingi groaned. “I don’t see why the world can’t just use Korean. No offence to you, Chaeyoung-noona. I appreciate English is a nice language. I just can’t deal with it. There are too many things to stumble on! This ‘lead’ and ‘lead’ business…”

Chaeyoung gave him a pitiful look. She reviewed the page they were on.

Their progress, within the span of that hour and a half, left much to be desired still.

Chaeyoung acted as an efficient and good-natured teacher. Mingi’s little interest in the over-load to the information made it that he benefitted marginally from the time.

Neither at fault for how they both struggled to complete the material.

“You really don’t like English, do you?” she mumbled, mostly to herself.

Mingi huffed a laugh to that. The stultifying purple prose he endured at length played in his recollection. “No, I do like English. I’d love to be better at it. It’s more a thing that it doesn’t feel free to learn it in this way. It’s just another thing to study for me. I’m sorry, noona. I’m tired of cycling through subjects.”

The sincerity to his words intense enough to have Chaeyoung backtrack to her previous presumptions.

She’d drawn up a page in her mind to Mingi’s character. Adjectives like witty and lively had been there. The flash in Mingi’s eyes. The break from his mask.

Apathetic, flippant, and haughty removed from that list.

Chaeyoung sensed the male was more driven than he let on. She hadn’t expected there to be that straight-forward of a path to make sense of him.

Despite the confirmation of his true self, Chaeyoung still was at a dead-end.

“I think the best way to learn a language is to live in a place where it’s widely spoken,” she advised him. She ran a finger to trace through her listed aims. “It’s impossible to be motivated unless you give it purpose. Maybe you could visit somewhere? Transfer college for a year over to America? Would that work? There’s a lot of options, from what I know.”

Mingi hoped his nervousness wasn’t obvious. The fact was that it could work. His father would have no qualms to shipping him abroad for a year or longer than that. His money no object to bring Mingi to fluency in English.

His father well-equipped to ensure that his son got the best. He needed his son to be the best.

“I have a phobia of flying,” Mingi lied through his teeth.

His aversion to travelling stemmed more from indifference to it. It felt validating to pretend he possessed a more literal inability to go to such places.

The way in which Chaeyoung’s eyes widened almost comical to the male. Her surprise confirmed to him that his statement ceased ideas that might be formulated for him to go abroad. Mingi knew her intentions were well-meaning.

“I’m sorry,” she hurried. Her ingenuous nature made Mingi rasp out a dry laugh.

He’d never gotten so much a kick out of teasing his instructors. The last person with that same unguarded soul had been Hansol.

Mingi spent three weeks learning colours in English then. He deliberately stumbled over the meaning of the word yellow. He acted as if he took it to be pink. The tutor gave his all to establish the difference.

Mingi hadn’t intended to become a contemptible person. Beyond even his English tutors, he acted detached from each one of the mentors. '

At one point, he’d been doing his best to follow their material. When he received good results, though, he learned that it didn’t matter.

His father still regarded him disparagingly.

Mingi put in countless efforts, but he couldn’t reach a height sufficient for the man.

The depression that came flawed his logic. Impulsively, he acted out. He knew it was wrong. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to rebel. His rage became too much.

Eventually, Mingi decided to waste the time he spent in the sessions. He had different rapports with the individuals tasked to assist him. For some people, he’d trick them. Gave a cruel pretence that he lacked any acute awareness to dealings. For others, he’d joke around and distract them until the time was up.

Once, to his then-history tutor back in high school, he’d established a convoluted plot to kill the allocated time. He spent their multiple sessions describing how an American military pathologist ordered his Korean assistant to put formaldehyde down into the Han River, which birthed the threat of an amphibious creature.

He remembered how Yiyeon stared at him blankly throughout the duration of that. She’d tried to cut in to educate him to no avail. She gave up and listened to the chronicle Mingi continued with. When he finally concluded the story, she handed in her notice to his father.

The time it took for her to resign from her post the longest-standing record to be the fastest.

She lasted under a week.

Mingi matured to be less irritating. He understood while he still didn’t want to comply with the sessions, the people were doing their jobs.

Plenty of them had no desire to be there either. They did so because they needed the payments they were given with the job.

Seeing people drop off like flies hadn’t been victorious in the way Mingi sought. It did make his father’s blood boil.

The cost of being insolent to the tutors made it harder for Mingi to feel less caged to the authority figure. Like that, he then reclaimed a portion of himself again. Not quite trying, but not quite failing.

Mingi allowed himself to be in moderate pain. Chaeyoung could vouch for that.

He hoped his father would remove him from the obligation to further studying with his entry to college. The guardian elected to supply only more demand for him to complete rigorous subject reviews. That dealt a harsh blow.

“—and then you this text translates to meaning that the children were ‘leading’ healthy lives. Several of them had ‘parasites’. This word, ‘asymptotic’—"

“—They say that Kafka burnt over 90% of his work,” Mingi interjected quietly.

Chaeyoung gave him a short glare to his tactlessness. She allowed him to press on.

The fact it hadn’t been a wisecrack mollified her. “Isn’t that strange? To do that to nearly everything you make. To let it become ash. It sounds so… Sad.”

Chaeyoung gave a tentative shrug. “It’d been his decision. If it made him feel better, I think it’s empowering. People work in mysterious ways when they create art.”

Mingi nodded at that input. He gazed down. Without thought, he turned the cover over to inspect the novel’s title once more. He hadn’t told Chaeyoung he read the book before, albeit its translation in Korean. His mind kept turning over and over the initial pages.

To that metaphor for sandstorms as human fate. 

Similarly, Mingi defined that word known as ‘forever’ to be but a sandcastle.

Chaeyoung sighed again. A dismissal cloud hung over her head. Distracted, Mingi failed to notice her as she began to pack up her belongings. The male then occupied with sounding out the synopsis to the novel. His investment elsewhere.

Mingi flouted any call to listen more than usual.

It was a bad day to meet him at his level. A weight to his countenance existed.

She didn’t know what happened. She felt it wasn’t her place to ask about Mingi’s personal life. Although they were friends, the divide between them in their roles blurred the extent that seemed permissible to open up.

Chaeyoung didn’t want to risk hurting him or the safety of her job.

“I have to leave early today,” she told him. She briskly zipped up her bag. Eyes kind when they met Mingi’s. The male swallowed his guilt to that.

Chaeyoung never stopped acting graciously toward him. No matter how undeserved her misplaced generosity was. It should’ve made Mingi change his general attitude.

But that called for a miracle at that point. Mingi had too much to unlearn.

“Will you be okay to get home safe?”

The concern in Mingi’s tone candid. The distinct depth to his voice did not undo the magnanimity to his words. His profile served equally cogent to goodness.

Chaeyoung came to understand while he was spoiled and troublesome, he had his heart in the right place. She imagined he didn’t fit the brief to be a tsundere type. Removed to the depictions she knew with all those manwhas Naeun loved. He’d been too earnest and easy with transmitting his positive energy with her.

Rather, Chaeyoung thought Mingi was lonely.

The girl had to physically shake her head to steer away from trying to analyse the male. She’d need more evidence and experience to truly nail him down.

“I’m meeting with my unnie,” Chaeyoung replied to him. “The café is close by.”

Mingi nodded, albeit reluctantly. “I can call for someone to take you there.”

Surfeited with the wealth, Chaeyoung acted humble. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

The female headed off without giving Mingi a chance to say more. He groaned at that.

He knew his mood was overbearing to tolerate at that present situation.

Mingi gave himself time to unwind. He rolled his shoulders and tapped his feet together. The stiffness to being in the same position for hours in abundance.

Glad to have the night free, Mingi reached into his pocket to fish out his phone.

He nearly dropped it when he looked at the screen.

Mingi quickly assented to a plan to handle his internal commotion.

First, he grasped the gifted candle he received from Seonghwa. He ignored the urge to light the wick. Too shaky.

The comforting lavender fragrance helped soothe those fissures spreading out like spider’s webs in his chest cavity.

Next, with his senses less maddened, Mingi took calming breaths. The exercise Hongjoong taught him proved useful.

His gulps of air more regularised, less taxing to him.

Mingi peeped at his phone once more before he unlocked the device.

He entered into a social app where he received the life-changing message from Yunho. He read over the dialogue. Dazed to comprehend it.

His mind flashed to Hongjoong, and then to San. Them, giggling and dumbly merry by sharing in one another’s presence. Mingi had the brunt of being the third wheel with Yeosang and Seonghwa already. It’d been another cruelty to put up with the quirks and isms adopted by his friends those past few days.

Wooyoung became visible to his cognition next.

Suddenly, Mingi remembered that time when Yeosang went on and on about a weird experiment. The younger male got the basic outline of the whole notion.

The Schrödinger person had a cat. Or allegedly possessed a feline.

Yeosang supplied it was an imaginary animal.

He emphasised such to probably comfort the rather distressed Yunho, who’d been unable to accept the animal’s mistreatment. Fictional or not.

A poisonous vial and the cat suspended in two states in a box. The appropriate terms Yeosang used went over Mingi’s head beyond that. The jargon was specific to quantum mechanics that it gave him a headache to even repeat it to himself.

Instead, Mingi latched on to the concept of the cat being both alive and dead.

How it would be when an individual opened the box to check the cat that a decision in the universe came to pass. The cat then decisively breathing or not.

At that moment, Mingi felt his predicament became reminiscent of that thought experiment. He was saddled with a duty that could either make or break a life.

Mingi scrubbed at his face with both hands. Rough and callous to desensitise him from his rampant worries. It felt futile to try to dull the mercilessness of them. In defeat, he messaged Yunho to say that he was on his way.

With cutting resolve, Mingi sat back in his chair. His next mission served.

He sniffed at his candle again, with hopes to better the distress that entered in.

The repressed anger flitted around his soul. If free, it’d unleash overwhelmingly destruction to his assurance, Mingi knew the havoc it would bring him. How it could pervade his being. Until nothing else would be discernible, bar loathing.

That made Mingi close his eyes. He mapped out how to exit his house. Thankful that he had gained plenty of practice to hedge his bets to ploys to then sneak out.

He finalised a concise plan to slyly bribe the loitering staff to verify his alibi. His hatred for Tuesdays skyrocketed to an all-time high.

...

San stumbled when he made his way up the stairs.

The male typically not clumsy. His other friends were more notorious for that trait.

In his enthusiasm to reach Wooyoung’s bedroom, he undermined his natural ability to navigate the steps without assessing them.

Luckily, he avoided an actual fall. He steadied himself with his movements, gaining traction in his steps.

He banged against the door soon afterward. He decided against using their own special code to announce his arrival. For fear that he’d be dismissed for it.

He made sure to give Seonghwa’s usual pattern to the predictable knock. The noise to Wooyoung shuffling reminded San of how fidgety he was.

He forced himself to be taut. He’d never been as sensitive to see his friend before. It scared him to recognise that fact.

Wooyoung opened the door.

When he realised San waited there, he gaped. For a time, neither male spoke.

San took in Wooyoung’s appearance. The younger male uprighted himself from his slouched position in the doorway. He gave San the impression he’d become a homebody. The loose clothing and unkempt hair observed by San instantly. The male, however, cared more for how Wooyoung’s skin tone dull. The natural colour less striking with a lack of sun exposure.

Weariness etched into the set of his lips.

San remained unsure if it were the shadows at play or not. The way in which the light made Wooyoung’s jawline and cheekbones appear striking made San tense, stricken.

_I lost a kilogram this week! I think I’ll be handsome soon, San-ie!_

The older male shrunk back. His malaise arose from the sinking feeling of things left unaddressed. He repeated Hongjoong’s whispers at night. To better that ill-equipped mentality he had then. _The ocean returns to stillness after a sweeping storm. You will too._

“Hi,” San mumbled. The silence worsened how jumpy he became.

Wooyoung regarded him in disbelief. The Ilsan male seemed to struggle to accept that San stood there. The older male knew he had turned up to the house out of nowhere.

All between them headed to the unprecedented territory.

San tried to ignore that hardship. How nothing fit right, on and off as they were.

The pair reverted back to silent staring. The atmosphere jolted between them.

The tension knife-edged. San felt more purpose to each second that passed. He knew he had plenty to say to Wooyoung. He’d stalled long enough to it.

Waited out the rest of the afternoon in circles. He’d attempted to write down how much he kicked himself to let them become as separated as they were. How he didn’t want to risk their friendship.

Not for anything.

Nothing he penned came outright. He lacked cohesion or strength to everything he put down. Either heartless or too forward. He dismantled it all in frustration.

San prayed that the energy he felt would be sufficient to meet with Wooyoung. He bet everything on that urgency that he grounded himself with then.

To freely share himself. No more constraints. To hope that the words could come to him.

“I’m sorry,” he came to at last. The interest in Wooyoung’s eyes increased at that. San remained firm when Wooyoung lifted his head. Chin up, face intrigued.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

San hadn’t anticipated that to emerge from Wooyoung. In every scenario he conjured up, he visualised harsh possibilities.

The underscore in Wooyoung’s words, that eased dysphoria, was far out of any realm that San predicted.

Wooyoung looked to him in a subdued manner. Mild to behold. Too considerate.

San owed more than to bury without ceremony. “I’m still sorry. I know I haven’t been a good friend, not to you. I minimised the time I spent with you, messaged you less frequently over these weeks. When I was with you, I spent next to no time making the effort to talk. After Busan… I’ll admit, I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what I did. I accept that you wanted space, but I still should’ve tried to see through the problem and fix it. I was selfish to be so taken with my own life. Our friendship deserves more. I can’t live without you.”

Somewhere between the lines, San got choked up. He brushed the wetness aside, reprimanding himself for crying. The emotions had hit him squarely.

“Hey,” Wooyoung spoke. He inched to lessen their distance. The smile that graced his lips gently. “Don’t cry. What a fool. You’re my other half, San-ie. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

San chuckled at that. He poked at Wooyoung’s cheek. In rapture when the other male whined loudly to that habit, backing away from him.

Those dark squinted eyes, that cocksure set of lips. How connected they were in that governed space made San feel whole again.

The younger male’s essence permeated his entity.

“Will you tell me what happened? Why you stopped talking to me?”

Although San knew to confront the wound meant inflicting more pain to begin, he needed closure to the circumstance. He didn’t want to leave it as it was.

Wooyoung sighed and took a careful step back. His expression was serious. “It was my fault. You didn’t do anything. I knew you had a lot going on with college—"

“—my family business is in danger,” San cut in. The verbal cascade like a waterfall. “I didn’t want to tell you, for many stupid reasons. To protect me, to protect you. To pretend it wasn’t real. I thought I could brave that alone, you know. Noona started to work extra shifts so that I was alone. My parents can’t even come back to Korea right now. I… I kept that from you. I know secrets are wrong, and I needed to tell you.”

Wooyoung gulped at that. Gradually, he spoke. “San, I’m sorry I didn’t think…”

San shook his head. He grimaced. He recognised his garbled means of sharing his truths had less than the desired impact. “I haven’t even told Hongjoong-hyung about it, it's like I can't get myself to speak the words. It's only been Seonghwa-hyung and Yeo-" He cut off and swallowed thickly, nervous. Then, "... I mean, for the people aware... It’s been hard to handle. I feel more lost than I ever have before.”

“That’s why you were upset at the beach,” Wooyoung realised. The shame that lined his facial features made San regret unloading on him. “San-ie, I’m sorry.”

San laughed. “It’s a game of bouncing apologises to one another now, isn’t it? But why are we saying sorry when the only thing to be apologetic to is the fact we let our doubts win over us and hurt ourselves… Wooyoung, I want to make sure this never happens again. I want to always be honest with you. Please. I need to restore that trust between us.”

Wooyoung frowned at that. His discomfort identified from San’s perspective.

The older male clued into the younger to read him well. The most minor shift detected by San made him certain in how Wooyoung really felt about overseeing matters.

A sense of piqued déjà vu snagged at San. That wobbling totem in his mind. A bruise he didn’t know how he obtained. A call from a distant plane.

That person who whispered to him at night who he forgot. _It doesn’t matter how many universes there are. There will always be a version of me standing by your side._

San kept his face blank. He waited for Wooyoung to tell him more.

“San, back on the trip, about what I said before… I wanted to let you know something important,” Wooyoung admitted. The accentuation of his shakiness made the dark-haired male reach out to grasp Wooyoung’s hands with his own.

“What is it?” San encouraged. Tone light and hold firm.

Wooyoung gave him a measured look. The devotion expressed better there than it could be with words. The dark night lifted when they gazed at one another.

“The thing is that I—”

Before Wooyoung got a chance to finish his thought, his bedroom door flew open. The collision with the wall startled San and Wooyoung in their positions.

Neither male expected the vision they witnessed when they glanced over.

“Where’s hyung?” Mingi panted out. He bent in his stature to accommodate his breathlessness. Hands braced against his thighs to heave the air into his lungs.

Behind him, more males raced on. Jongho, Yunho, and Hongjoong appeared.

San frowned taking in their oddly hostile demeanours. He tried to rationalise their abrupt entrance to the place. To him, they all turned up together.

They’d bypassed the staff to ensure nobody alerted Wooyoung to their untimely arrival.

Something very urgent and unpalatable made the group turn up.

“Not here,” Wooyoung responded to Mingi.

The light-haired male then walked to the middle of where San and the others stood. He directed himself better at that spot. His short answer hardened at the edges. Enough it disordered San’s mind.

The shift to Wooyoung’s attitude baffled the Namhae male. The dream-like fantasy faded.

“Did you know about Yeosang?” Yunho asked. The male aggravated.

Torn between the islands his friends resided at, San glanced between them.

He struggled to decipher what was the matter. Yeosang’s name disconcerted him. That new dimensional trip he had with Wooyoung shattered, forgotten.

“Yes,” Wooyoung admitted, “I was the only one he told before the news broke.”

“How long ago?” Mingi pressurised the younger male. His drastic acrimony had Hongjoong step in between him and Wooyoung. The conniption oncoming.

“I never knew I was obligated to let you know of every facet of my life.”

“Answer. The. Question.” Mingi didn’t deter to Wooyoung’s rebuke. In fact, he exuded the exact energy to suggest he wouldn’t repeat his demand again.

“Before Busan.” Wooyoung whispered, defeated. His gaze to his feet.

The sentence brought chaos. It brought San back to when Jongho fought against them. Like a glockenspiel to innocence juxtaposed the synths to the cry for help.

The soundtrack to events numbed San. He wished he could mute his mind.

“You kept that from us! Is that why you both were so distant all this time?” Mingi practically growled out. He approached Wooyoung as if to attack him.

“What’s going on?” San tried, feeling small. The age-old rule _of ‘never ask a question if you’re not prepared for the truth it brings’_ thrown out the window for him.

“Yeosang-hyung’s engaged,” Jongho clarified.

When San gave no immediate reaction to the revelation, the male resorted to a grim addition. “Not to Seonghwa-hyung.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” San spiralled. Panicked, “Is this a prank? What?”

He’d just _been_ with the Jinju native. His friend happy, iridescent. It had to be a lie.

“Does it look like I’m joking?” Mingi blasted at San. He cared little to the male’s following flinch, too far gone in his paroxysm.

“How fucking dare you!” The red-haired male passed Hongjoong harshly, enough to leave the elder tottering in place. He continued on to jab Wooyoung at his chest, his temper was completely untamed. “How dare either of you!”

Wooyoung didn’t meet Mingi’s fierce glare. “Hyung always knew it would come to this, Mingi. We all did. Your tantrum is ridiculous right now. This is no big deal.”

“No big deal,” Mingi repeated indignantly. “You’re kidding me. That’s insane!”

“What’s more insane is for you to think Yeosang would be able to publicly be with a deaf boy,” Wooyoung gritted out. “How delusional can you be, really?”

San shivered at that. It made no sense to him what direction things headed to. The cruelty that dripped from Wooyoung’s tongue frightened him.

None of the group behaved in manners that appeared standard to their usual selves.

When the dark-haired male surveyed them, he deflated in on himself. Both Jongho and Yunho levelled to Wooyoung with a degree of acceptance in their profiles. Hongjoong appeared afraid. His eyes were wide with innocence to what was happening.

Wooyoung and Mingi existed as if in a bubble of their own by comparison.

“Seonghwa is the most powerful heir out there in South Korea,” Hongjoong mumbled.

Soft-spoken, a contrast to the volume of the other males.

“But that doesn’t matter,” Wooyoung stated, vexed. “We don’t live in a utopia. Nobody cares about that point. Whatever he and Yeosang have is unimportant. It will never change the fact he’s been hiding his disability and his sexuality all his life. _They can never be together!_ If anything came out of the truth, hyung would be better off dead then. Yeosang was destined to marry someone like this chosen girl. You can yell all you want. This is the world we live in.”

He paused. Then, “And there’s no way to change the hands of time against us.”

“What will Seonghwa-hyung do?” San found his voice. He looked around the room, desperate to be comforted by that. “How can this happen to them? This isn’t…”

_Right._

“Hyung will be fine.” San knew Wooyoung well enough to detect the catch to his confident tone. “He’s aware of how things must be, regardless if he knew in advance this news. The marriage announcement wasn’t due to be out this early, which is why Yeosang didn’t explain to you all before. He was supposed to have the rest of the summer to spend with us and with hyung. But he had to declare the arrangements sooner with the stakes to the Kang fortune. His hands were tied.” 

San clenched his jaw. The image it conjured up of Yeosang didn't fit the male he called his friend. It was wrong.

Everything was wrong.

He learned before how the brain was something like a network of computers. A hundred billion wired together. Each computer made its own electricity. The information confined to the wiring. The loss of electrical power to the organ didn’t erase all.

Depolarisation happened often to most people. In migraines, seizures, concussions. As long as the brain cells weren’t dead, they’d ‘reboot’.

In those minutes that passed, San believed maybe his mind couldn’t restart. He’d traversed to that interim. Where there could be nothing more to consider.

The shy smiles and the spilling sunlight. San watched as his friends fought. That shortcoming juxtaposed their positive traits. A ballast for their lost personalities.

He told them he needed to go to the bathroom. The excuse was unheard in the rush the others had. San trailed to the familiar space. Quiet a drug to remedy him. He turned on the sink and let himself cry.

A temporary proponent to the theory that the truth was a matter of imagination.

With something like an act of ablution with the water, San observed himself in the mirror.

The cold temperature given the face cleanse not unwelcomed by him, who felt the lowness.

The decorum to the room haunted him. He regained a slight call to opinion. He remembered that tale. Where Omelas had no kings, soldiers, priests, or slaves.

 _Gold. Eternal life. Honour. Love. Fame._ That was what people lived for, died for.

San faced his reflection but didn’t find himself there. Something of a shadow passed there instead. Chains glinted white. The face was menacing. Not his own.

When San closed his eyes to shake away the delusion. The figure went from his view.

He didn’t want to head back into the conflict. There seemed no resolution to the fight.

Wooyoung was correct. Their futures were paved a particular way from birth.

San’s hurt seemed unfounded because of that.

_Grow up, Choi San. This is the world you live in._

When he left the bathroom, he bumped into a hurried figure. Baffled, San looked up only to find Seonghwa.

He gripped San to steady his balance. The elder male’s austere appearance bewitching as ever. No single tuft of his hair out of place. Beautiful as ever to see.

The strength in his hold weakened San’s composure once more. Seonghwa, the typical hero type in character.

He’d physically fall for anyone to see how truly exhausted he was. Selfless enough to be weak. His touch was gentle on San.

The older male eyed San with worry. San hadn’t dried off his face, he realised. He guessed he looked a sight because of that. The evident misgiving within Seonghwa’s expression made the other practically yank himself out from him. Disconcerting and unnerving.

The hurt that registered on Seonghwa’s face then more than San could bear.

“San?”

The named male paused at the call. He’d been missing long enough to manifest an uncertainty. Yunho peeped from the doorway the others resided in.

His eyes widened when he noticed Seonghwa there. Whatever he intended next to say to San died on his tongue.

Instead, Yunho gave a quick glance between Seonghwa and the rest of the males in Wooyoung’s bedroom. He bit his lip all the while, contemplation clear in his actions.

 _Fool._ San brooded over the action. It left Seonghwa more quizzical than ever.

In that next second, the elder separated himself from San’s side, then determined. The polemics reached an impasse in their feuding when the male entered the room.

San averted his gaze. Too lethargic to go and follow his friend any longer.

The dark-haired male fumbled to clasp the phone in his pocket. He retracted it from the location. He found himself searching up to reveal the trouble to him.

The images that the articles used for Yeosang were lovely. The male was endearingly attractive. Poised well and professional. Anyone would envy whoever had his hand in marriage.

The eligibility of the affluent figure apparent to every enlisted box tick required.

San skimmed over the content to the news. Counterfactual accounts were written with ease. Ersatz emotions expressed. Perfectly illusive.

_Who are you?_

San traced the structure to his friend’s face. As if it would identify him to be the true Yeosang. The photographed version alien to him. A lack of light in his eyes.

Later, San decided.

That’s when he’d get a replacement to the phone he crushed beneath his feet.

...


	6. Chapter 6

...

**PAST**

THE INTERIOR OF THE VILLA COULD ONLY BE DESCRIBED AS A PARAGON.

The architectural wonder was boundless in its allure. Spurred on with a glittering chandelier, the foyer dappled with its splendour lights.

Groups lingered to take it in with glee and delight. The place proclaimed the wealth of the hosts without their preamble.

One wide-eyed child stilled. Awestruck, he regarded all angles of the place. He never imagined one could attain such a degree of beauty.

His eyes had taken in plenty of affluent settings, but this was victorious to render him flummoxed.

To him, the staircase was the most mesmerising part. The craft of its structure unique in its high quality. Its sinuous shape intimidating, though.

There were too many hidden floors for it to lead to, as per the boy’s opinion.

The child noticed all the people throughout the open space. They basked in revelry.

Dressed up, crisp and pristine, in their exquisite outfits. Every strand of their elegant hair in place. Polished and highbrow.

“Yeosang. Pay attention.” The looming father warned his son.

Yeosang forced himself to adjust his focus away from the string of people.

He hadn’t mastered yet how to best avoid analysing them at face value. Hence why, he supposed, his guardian opted to remind him to be cautious of his behaviour.

Directed onward by an overzealous butler, Yeosang and his father entered the main stage to the grand party. They walked with prescribed heed.

It was a lavish room, prepared for the afternoon meal. The decorated tables suited an opulent taste. Delicate plates with too much cutlery to be humble. Picturesque rose centrepieces.

The petals looked too framed. With a precise touch, to entrust them as ideal.

Nothing was unorthodox to the standards. Yeosang could identify that from his experience at other similar venues. It bored him to investigate the costly area.

The sight made his head swirl. The extent of the richness unbearable.

It all had stripped of a more spirited childhood since birth. Yeosang already knew how integrated he was to the given realm of existence.

Overwhelmingly so. Without escape.

The sound of the wind alerted Yeosang of the window positioned just above him. The framed opening allowed the entry of fresh air in the confinement.

He noted how unlike the Confucian lattice style the design opted for. The window was without rectangles shaped by intersecting lines to suggest cosmic principles. Its muntins functioned to diffuse the daylight with careful control. The illumination reduced the contrast of the shadows in the location.

Yeosang looked out to the exposed sky.

Cloudy. Seeing all the abundant shapes like that made the boy miss a friend.

Suhyun was her name. The girl had toured Yeosang around vast grasslands, thrilled to let him see nature in its purest form. He recalled how she latched on to him.

She made him an unwilling companion of hers. Her infectious giggles made it impossible to deny her of anything.

Suhyun had been persistent to have them adventure when he chanced upon her home. While his father had not disclosed the reasons that they’d stay around the spot, Suhyun told Yeosang of the missionary work her parents dedicated themselves to. Her hardships, and how unconventional her upbringing was.

Yeosang listened to the warning she gave him of the paths people walked. Suhyun had told him of her ambitions, citing the clouds as how far she’d reach.

She hinted at an obligation to drag her brother with her to the stars. _He needs me! He’d be lost without me there._

Luckily, Chanhyuk had been off cooking dinner and hadn’t heard her complaints. He couldn’t retaliate to her exasperation at his inclusion in her future career.

Yeosang missed her.

For her resilience to the obstacles she faced, and how determined she made herself be. She showered Yeosang with praise. She became the biggest enthusiast to his, rather begrudgingly shared, musicality.

When they said their goodbyes, she continued to expand in her support of him.

She pledged devotion to their friendship. They’d get to meet again, she told him. Outside of hushed conversations, they would unite to sing. Sing until their lungs give out, Suhyun proposed excitedly. Far away from the prejudice that Yeosang’s father held of her status.

Where nobody had control over anyone. A haven for them.

Yeosang _really_ missed her.

That much had become more solidified with a third flare of the emotion welling inside him. He wished he could talk to her, laugh at her jokes.

She had made everything seem easy in life.

She batted worries away as though she was playing a game of baseball. Maybe it was, to her.

Yeosang could not stay in that space where their dreams came together. The adult world compromised that hideout.

He hoped she was happy. That she’d only see a good thing and meet good people. Her experiences were everlastingly euphoric.

Yeosang tried to ignore the surging dislike of his predicament at that cornerstone of mind.

It was that the young male noticed a lonesome figure in his proximity.

The individual hung back, out of the spectacle of the given light in the space. The way he managed to still stand out amongst the crowd fascinating. He looked to be Yeosang's age.

Tenacious, with a wandering gaze. His outward appearance embodied the atmosphere of the occasion for its worth.

Yeosang heard Suhyun’s distant encouragement. _Don’t be afraid. Take chances._

The unknown boy was the epitome of a prince. He was a vision, in gold and white. The luxurious fabric he wore embroidered with such fine threads. The ostentatious detail along the buttons was formal proof enough of a superiority.

Yeosang’s heartbeat raced on ahead to the sight. There was a glory to see the presented attributes of the other child.

Yeosang tried to piece a background to the stranger. He imagined himself as being clued in on his personality. Likes and dislikes. Knowing those inner mechanisms that operated within the other boy’s mind.

Yeosang was enticed to remember him. Paint him in the bank of his memories. To hold to the way his eyes were brilliant in the glow of that pocket of time.

After a moment, he diverted his eyes away from the mysterious person. He wondered more deeply on whether the silent entity was like him.

If the environment he resided in was a pressure-cooker of sorts, too. If that boy was also lonely in a crowded home. Not alone, yet lonely.

If Yeosang could convey the words, he’d be able to accurately describe what he envisioned external of himself.

They both might be swallowed up in waters too shallow for exploration. The paucity of any waves that brought fear and joy.

Only callousness could wash upon them. No startling changes. Children, whose existence was pertinent for success only. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yeosang wanted to peel back the layered story of the stranger. He hoped he could unveil what was hidden beneath the surface. He yearned to relate to him.

“That’s the youngest Park child. His name is Seonghwa.”

Yeosang startled at the sound of his father’s voice. It had disrupted his thoughts.

He glanced up. His father did not look toward him for additional correspondence.

Yeosang realised time must have marched on steadily without them interacting.

The man, instead, had craned his neck out as far as Seonghwa’s direction. With obvious interest, he assessed the named boy, much like he were at an auction instead.

The child still appeared adrift. He seemed pitiful to stand alone.

Different bodies around the room had eyed Seonghwa’s form numerous times. Nobody spoke to him. They tended to gawk. Whispered to each other.

As if he were in an invisible cage, made to be admired else ignored.

With the new information, Yeosang examined Seonghwa. Critically, then. He already knew of the name from his father’s unkind accounts of the family.

Seonghwa was older, he realised. The boy supreme at the age of nine.

At least Yeosang knew he acted accordingly to his father’s orders. He understood he was not like other children. He did not know if Seonghwa was also restricted in the same way.

Maybe he had to uphold a greater stance of being disciplined.

Yeosang struggled to even know of himself if he had any lasting juvenile wants. He wanted to believe Seonghwa was free from the burdens Yeosang faced.

His father came to sneer at Seonghwa’s shy demeanour. Yeosang was familiar with the adult’s typical reaction to anyone else. Contempt and judgement.

As such, Yeosang identified the boy’s mistakes easily.

Seonghwa stood with poor posture. Too lazy to stand to his full height.

Seonghwa made no attempts to mingle in the social circles. Self-indulgent.

Seonghwa made no eye contact with those around him. Impolite.

Seonghwa was isolated with his separation from his parents. Disrespectful.

Seonghwa needed to be timelier within the frequency to which he fidgeted.

Seonghwa failed to amend the wrinkle of his dress shirt. A grievous error.

Yeosang tried hard before to figure out why his father held a grudge against him.

Looking to Seonghwa, he wondered if this was a mirror image of himself.

Even then, Yeosang only grew despondent. To him, Seonghwa shone brightly. To his father, Seonghwa would be of little significance.

Nothing more than another possession to the home. A pawn in the bidding ways of his relatives.

The expected displeasure, in taking in the presence of the boy, was clearly within his father’s stiffened back.

The reflected glare of champagne flutes offered by the waiting staff just as stubborn as the man’s ire.

Yeosang’s father detested imperfection. That much he went on to remind Yeosang. The adult complained of the boy under his breath. The words were harsh.

Yeosang digested the vocabulary without thinking much.

He heard it all before. He would hear it all again.

The youngest of the Kang family then dared not to move. He kept his breathing steady.

His face was devoid of tension. He had practised for this. Came prepared. He would not be out of line to his father, lest suffer that wrath directed at him.

It was then that a woman appeared closeby. Yeosang watched her, intrigued.

Her hair hung in loose curls to her shoulders. Her dress was resplendent in its shimmer of royal blue.

She made to approach Seonghwa. The boy had otherwise remained dormant to the shark-infested waters.

Yeosang saw them, in that cast of a cloudy mirage.

The woman was as beautiful as the boy. Yeosang dared not to look away from them.

The adult's confidence in her stride was mighty to Yeosang. Powerful.

In the next moment, the remnants of her draw to an aura of haughtiness were gone. Her calculative form disappeared. In its place, a friendly pace emerged.

With new purpose, she bent to grasp Seonghwa’s hands in hers. From his perspective, Yeosang made out that she gave the younger a breath-taking smile. 

The woman was willing to present to him the creases around her eyes. She gave the boy an unreserved warmth.

Yeosang had to resist the urge to gape at how freely she expressed herself.

It made Yeosang’s chest ache with a familiar resentment. His father huffed in disbelief at the incongruous display. He seemed irked to have the female’s back indirectly hiding the moment away from him to scrutinise.

The man was nosy. His claim of gossip was a primary fill of him at events.

Yeosang focused again. He listened to his heartbeat. The thumping grew louder.

Seonghwa had broken out into a magnificent smile.

It reminded Yeosang of old tales with lost fishermen who’d come to find a lighthouse beacon during a hellish storm at sea. Some miraculous happening.

Yeosang registered the resemblance of the mother and son at that point.

Their striking features and their matching joy. He knew he was foolish for the yearning it induced of him to possess.

Yeosang continued to look on, as the woman began to gesticulate to her child.

Whatever she provided allowed the male to further brighten up. His cheeks, Yeosang could detect at his standpoint, coloured pink.

The mother had made a move away from her coverage of Seonghwa’s form. This meant that Yeosang’s father was able to witness the child’s blush at ease.

The adult shifted, irritated. The liberties the mother and son took upon themselves had neglected anyone around them. They were content in their own bubble.

Yeosang’s father had never been content in the bubble he shared with his son.

Yeosang did not understand why neither of the occupied pair moved their lips to speak. The communication seemed far-fetched and alien to him.

Still, he was touched seeing how effortlessly charming it was. Natural and lovely; it suited them well.

The exchange concluded as the mother pressed a kiss to Seonghwa’s forehead.

Bewitched at the affection, her son appeared under a spell with its amity. He stood taller, with an acquired strength. Energised. Less afraid.

It was then that Yeosang knew that Park Seonghwa was perfect.

He concluded that much with a rather cutting resolve. He wanted to abolish the voice of anyone who argued to the fact. He was convinced of the statement.

The excellence of the other was hard to contain for Yeosang. His nerves felt on fire. There was a truth Seonghwa had that could not be diminished or denied.

Yeosang observed the boy with rapture. He thought of the orderliness and purity to fractals of never-ending patterns. The complexity of that incompletion never terminated. An idea that could never be constructed in the history of humans. Yeosang could not see Seonghwa in totality yet gathered the sense of the other.

Seonghwa would be traced by Yeosang anywhere in the world.

Aware of his existence, Yeosang’s mind was already primed to see him everywhere. He knew, from that glimpse, that Park Seonghwa was perfect.

It staggered him, although he did little to resist the rush of happiness the notion brought him. He tried to rationalise it was envy to feel the peculiar desire to speak to the boy. All he knew was how piercing that wish was. A refined taste of sugar upon his tongue. The eagerness to share the delight together all he wanted.

Surprised by how much he ached to the simple concept of a bond. Yeosang thought he had grown to be wiser to the idea. 

He wasn’t allowed to have friends of his choosing. He knew his father felt the time was wasted on people like the other pair. The man was livid whenever he dealt with associates to him who cared deeply. He dismissed and mocked anyone who ran the course for the sake of hearts alone.

 _Weak_ , he chastised of them. A lesson to his son within the ranting. The polarised thinking of his parent an earful. _Weak and selfish_.

His father spoke of a world without existence. Of treasures, without dreams.

Yeosang already knew how his father would later alter his sour mood. Instead, he'd be a kindly soul to the Park representatives.

The faceted delivery he’d give would be convincing because Yeosang knew of no better actor than his father.

The same father eventually gave up on the scorn he sent to the family. He moved to converse with someone he had deemed fit enough to acknowledge.

Yeosang stalked off to a distance out of their earshot. He scanned around and realised Seonghwa and his mother had disappeared from their original spot.

Dejected, Yeosang fixed his gaze to admire the swan guise of the napkins upon the dining tables. Pulchritudinous as they were, Yeosang wished the staff did not have to spend so much time to shape them into stunning creatures.

Maybe it was because he was a child, but he felt it _very_ pointless. Napkins were napkins to him.

They were more appealing without a pretence.

Yeosang sighed. Weary. _Not everything needs to be modified,_ he thought.

He jumped in place when his shoulder was tapped from behind.

Quickly, Yesoang braced himself to greet the inquisitive person.

He tried to school his expression to be nice. He knew that would be better, preferred to his plastered grimace.

It was Seonghwa.

The boy gave him a rueful grin when they faced each other.

The elder of the pair had his right hand to brush up on his left. He next clenched both hands into fists. The greeting was presented with a timid courtesy.

Baffled by the introduction, Yeosang did not speculate upon it for long. He made a swift decision to replicate the same actions. He hoped that was correct to do.

It felt like it were mannerly of him to test out, rather than staying still or fumbling with his words.

Seonghwa seemed pleasantly surprised. His bottom lip protruded out in wonder.

“He’s saying hello.”

Yeosang snapped his head to the right at the voice.

The one who spoke continued to address Yeosang, “He wanted to meet you.”

To confirm, Yeosang looked back to the boy in question.

Seonghwa sent his mother a frown. The tips of his ears had reddened at her arrival.

Yeosang was unclear on whether he knew of the information she told Yeosang, or if he was embarrassed in having his parent there to speak on his behalf.

Despite it all, when Yeosang looked at him, he was reminded of the sway and dance of the calm breeze. It was as if Yeosang was falling to him, confined to that whimsical draw.

The sensation mixed in with that of flowers in bloom.

Yeosang felt it then. He knew it was an outlandish revelation to try and explain. Marvellous and bizarre. He understood he was naïve.

His age acted against him. For him to think that all it would take is a single encounter to know for sure.

It was something that Yeosang knew of no words to explain to himself, and still.

Those possible words were just a hindrance.

He did not comprehend the extent of it, but that was alright. It would work itself out. It would settle into place, he was sure.

He only knew his future had become vivid.

Seonghwa’s mother continued to tease her bashful son. Seonghwa actively protested to what she told Yeosang. Yeosang stood, blissful to the proceedings.

Everything, surely, fit snugly into place. In the quiet of their resuming gaze, Yeosang and Seonghwa connected.

Being in an orbit of one another, for all Yeosang understood of his short life thus far, was the best thing.

He believed in it. He vowed to not let that feeling go. He wouldn’t let Seonghwa be lost to him. He’d protect their friendship, he promised himself, with all he had in him.

Yeosang smiled. The action had been natural.

He thought he had forgotten how to do so, without a necessary drive or instruction. No longer artificial or fake.

He smiled. Because it was what _he_ wanted to do.

The summer had finally come for him to celebrate in. The sunshine dazzled him.

...

**PAST**

“It’s just a small cut. It doesn’t need a plaster!”

Yeosang ignored his friend. With attentive pace, he bandaged the male’s nose.

The fine line of the cut concealed, then prepped to heal itself. The covering colourful against the pale complexion of the stubborn person.

 _Cute_ , Yeosang’s mind supplied.

“This is ridiculous.” The boy continued. Annoying in his attitude, and a broken record.

“You’re like a leading male in a drama,” Yeosang said, “getting scarred in a way that enhances your naturally handsome features. You should’ve tried to at least get the punches landed on your cheekbone or by your jawline. It will make people swoon, I’m telling you.”

The younger male snorted. He retorted precariously, “If only they operated like the villains and aimed to batter me so _politely_. I might even be victorious if that were the case next time.”

Yeosang raised an eyebrow at that. “You’re implying this isn’t a once-off occurrence?”

His tone delivered warning enough in its sharp edge. Yeosang knew he had little of the influence the older males in the group possessed to scold, but he let the frustration come over him without suppression. He felt as though he were in Hongjoong’s shoes. The burden sat on his shoulders with sufficient weight to be a nuisance.

Yeosang hated to be in the position he was in. It wasn’t meant for him. He wasn’t the type to try and be a more authoritative reference. He commanded little confidence in that.

Still. For his friend, he did his best to put himself out of his comfort zone. It was worth it.

He was worth it.

No matter how much it irked Yeosang to be faced with his given indifference.

The other male grunted. He did not lose his fixation on his mindset over the events. “They weren’t backing down. I don’t think it’s over yet. Not without justice. Not for me, Yeosang.”

“Wooyoung, you need to stop,” Yeosang told him. The humour was gone from his voice. Firmly, he made sure his eyes communicated how serious he was with their strict animosity to the other.

Wooyoung evened himself with the glare. Incredulously. “Stop _what_? Protecting him?”

“He doesn’t need your protection.” Yeosang shifted himself from the younger male’s tenacity. Instead, he closed up the first aid kit with shaky hands.

The bruised knuckles made it more difficult to snap shut the box.

“He barely went to our school anymore,” Wooyoung practically hissed, his energy unparalleled. “They mocked and belittled him. The teachers didn’t care. How am I meant to restraint myself, when they openly talk about him like they do?”

Yeosang shut his eyes for a moment. There came that resurfaced memory he’d try to let go of.

How the whole school gleefully ganged up to bully someone else, until he’d left that school. Their collective mentality owed to that _‘I’m really glad it’s not me!’_ rule.

The phantom of being pelted with erasers during class still came to life for him.

At least Seoul was different from him. Unlike that to his friends, however.

“If you go up against them, they’ll turn on you,” Yeosang explained.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Wooyoung defied the given fact. “I don’t care!”

He possessed the ferocity of a tabby cat with his granted exhales of might. Yeosang appreciated how open and brash he was to his cause.

An uncharted aspect to study to the boy.

“Because Hongjoong-hyung wants you to keep your head down. He’d rather deal with whatever they give himself than risk you getting involved. At least care about him, a _little_.”

The younger male baulked at that. The nuance to Yeosang’s expression silenced him with a last rasp of sullen breath. The argument ended with that finality.

Wooyoung demonstrated erudition in when to relent in his force. In a short span of time, it seemed, he noticed that Yeosang always managed to win every debate. The friend circle fancied no one else could muster up any counterpoint when the boy charged in. Else, Wooyoung had been smug to see, Yeosang possessed all the dirt to anyone else’s business.

He recalled how Jongho wised up when Yeosang shed light on how the youngest happened to borrow and lose Yunho’s headphones.

The youngest would’ve gotten away with the crime had he not challenged Yeosang over the choice of movie that night.

Lesson learned.

The dilapidated building nearly shook with the wind outside. The summer break was in full swing, but it felt further afield. The weather not yet up to par with those beautiful days.

“You’re bleeding,” Wooyoung pointed out, after a beat.

Yeosang followed his gaze and tracked it to his lip. Sure enough, his fingers encountered red.

The colour dimmed by the lighting of the place, but nonetheless lucid to consider.

The male kept the pressure on the wound for a few minutes.

The trickle of blood short-lived.

His lower lip busted. The punch that landed unavoidable within his position back then.

 _Maybe I should learn taekwondo, which would be useful for next time,_ Yeosang contemplated.

Wooyoung peeked over, his face contorted as if he were apologetic. Had Yeosang not been concentrated elsewhere, he’d have played upon that fact. The younger boy was rarely so quiet.

Instinctual feeling, not a conscious desire, motivated Yeosang to cuddle up to him.

The friends remained like that for as long as Wooyoung’s subdued vitality permitted.

Typical of the younger male’s puissance, he lasted less than five minutes to not pipe up.

“What made you jump in to help?” Wooyoung mumbled, snug in place.

Yeosang hummed, head tilted. “Why ask something you know the answer to?”

Wooyoung huffed at that. His tone was raucous. “Because it’s worth asking to know in full!”

“Fine,” Yeosang admonished. His enamour to the other downfall of his. “You were in danger, so I stepped in. What counted to me most was making sure you weren’t hurt. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Yeosang loved his friends. That way Seonghwa regarded them in soft but ardent fondness. How thoughtful yet awkward Hongjoong would be when he praised them all. The manner in which Yunho was dedicated and cheerful in harmony. San, who effortlessly eased to become a balance of flippant and considerate. Then, Mingi. A faithful subject to fun and reliable as one to depend upon, no matter his maladroit way. Likewise, Wooyoung’s loyalty shone amid his loud hankering at the group. Jongho’s judgemental gaze always melted into affection.

Complicated by their circumstances. They blended together as the best parts of themselves.

Try as he might, hidden to Yeosang was that real labyrinth of Wooyoung’s ratiocination.

The younger male carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

In breaks that brought exigency, Wooyoung came to showcase a vigilant sense of guardianship over the group.

Yeosang decided to leave the unanswered be.

The connection he fledged since he met Wooyoung convinced him to follow the other. His ignorance of the male’s history was forgotten.

Yeosang maintained those glimpses that suggested Wooyoung’s shrouded ego. That persistent urge to comprehend the incomprehensible disappeared with the male’s emerging nature. His laughter and smiles were troublesome in how tender they were.

“How much do my school bills cost? It must be expensive.”

Wooyoung’s whispered low enough that Yeosang strained to catch the question.

“Hyung would slaughter me if I said anything about that,” he wisecracked.

Wooyoung groaned, unhappy. “You know I knew you’d say that.” He lifted his head and smacked his lips together. “I need to figure it out to save up to pay him back! I tried digging around, but I couldn’t find out anything. Come on Yeosang-ie, please tell me. Please, please.”

Yeosang flustered to the affection Wooyoung used but did not sway in his stance. “I’d rather not risk my neck, Seonghwa-hyung always finds out the truth and who to blame.”

Wooyoung didn’t back down from testing out his artless esteem. He pouted and pleaded. “I know I’ll never afford to repay hyung for everything else – housing, food, clothes and all – but the very least I can do is even try and return the price of my uniform or textbooks.”

“You have a lot to learn about Seonghwa-hyung,” the older male spoke shrewdly, “he’d be hurt if you think you’re indebted to him. It’d do him more disservice to act like this.”

“But I _am_ indebted to him.” Wooyoung gave up on the sweet talk. Grumpy, he kicked his feet out. “I’m pathetic, depending on his goodwill and taking advantage of his generosity.”

“You’re not pathetic.” The intrepidity was sturdy to the statement.

Wooyoung appeared taken aback by the confidence in Yeosang’s voice. The older male removed himself from their shared embrace. He sat up straighter, willing Wooyoung to argue.

“I am pathetic.”

 _I knew you’d say that_ the other male quipped, but did not verbalise to Wooyoung.

“We’re your friends,” he mediated instead. With a new tactic, he didn’t hesitate to go on, “If our worlds were different, say, and you were in hyung’s position while he was in yours, what would you do? Be honest.”

“I’d do the same as he’s doing for him,” Wooyoung filled in. He gave an obligatory humph. “I think you should be a psychologist. You’re disturbingly good with resolving things.”

Yeosang grinned to the backhanded compliment. He cosied into Wooyoung’s shoulder once more. He hadn’t expected it to be that simple to smoothen out the topic. “I’ll be an astronaut.”

Wooyoung tensed. His words came out baffled. “Astronaut? What do you mean?”

“I’m kidding,” Yeosang clarified, tone light. “It’s one of those childhood dreams I had, just. To explore the galaxy, travel across the stars. It was either that or be a pirate, you know.”

“I don’t think there’s much out there,” Wooyoung disagreed to the whimsy. “not for us.”

Yeosang frowned. Wooyoung’s face became unreadable to him. The emotion complex.

“How do you know that?” he put across. “Who knows what could be out there. Our species is still evolving to discover more, to formulate the basics, to sum up this universe. It’s all-new. We’re at the frontier now to seek out answers. How we came to exist, and if there’s anyone else out there. We’re so close to becoming greater. How much awaits us out there…”

_It seemed that stroked flames. Yeosang’s words were taken to be a hidden barbed statement to the younger male. Wooyoung, enervated. His hedged gesticulation was bizarre to his next sentence._

“There’s nothing out there.”

Yeosang pondered over that. He’d spent countless days collecting evidence for inflationary cosmology. Fascinated with that likelihood of something more, realities unlike their own.

It was the stuff of science fiction, he knew. Never claimed to himself it to be more. The boredom of monotonous day-to-day ignited the drive to picture the castle in the sky.

He wondered why Wooyoung seemed temperamental to the mention of anything of the like. The younger male satisfied to talk of everything in minor approach.

Wooyoung loved to hear about the constellations and planets. He let Yeosang drone on about them without offence.

The boy was less inclined to more fantastical notions, such as space travel or cosmic exploration.

It wasn’t Yeosang’s place to pry. He knew there was something, potential trauma even, that withheld Wooyoung that made him less… Rational.

The boy adjusting to everything, with little catch of himself.

Some days were easier than others for him, Wooyoung admitted in his lowest spirits.

Yeosang swallowed down what concerns he had.

They jabbed at him, of course. Yeosang cared little at that cost to keep pace with his friend. That which frightened Wooyoung to anchor himself a shameful mystery.

Yeosang told himself he’d wait to find out the matter. Impatient as he was, he’d wait.

“Well, it won’t be in our lifetime we can figure out the gritty of the solar system,” Yeosang conceded. He gave Wooyoung a timid glance. The mood studious upon him. “Don’t worry.”

With little to suggest Wooyoung was comforted, the older male took to sing softly A song of appeasement, that of a refreshing melody.

Yeosang identified before how Wooyoung fell into the lullaby. Their sorrows melted away into it. The warmth of the day profound to their rest.

Eventually, Yeosang ceased to sing. He knew that trance couldn’t last for them both.

“You never heard the story, did you? Of when Jongho saved me from a car crash.”

Wooyoung glanced up at that, his profile sharp. “No. When did this happen?”

“I was thirteen, then. It’d been weeks after the funeral. My mother and my sister were working through all the financial details. The lawyers and shareholders kept them occupied. We’d been to Seoul that day to attend a meeting. I was restless holed up there. There was talk of us relocating. Talk to me going to Japan. It was all…” Yeosang trailed off, thoughts awry.

The memories came out-of-linearity to him. His sister, as she busied herself with asserting the cleanliness of the room. The stench of disinfectant. The geranium blossom and vanilla scent that his mother wore. The city lights that he chased after.

How the bruises still lasted.

 _You can’t fight death,_ he chanted back then to calm his nerves. _Death ends all._

That brought no peace to his unease.

The entrance to the past. The entrance to the present. The entrance to the future. All opened.

“—You don’t have to tell me this.” When Yeosang peered at him, Wooyoung smiled. He looked dashing, Yeosang thought. The light brought out the demure shade that his irises defined.

A galaxy existed in his eyes. It cut Yeosang off from that tendril of doubt.

“It was all confusing,” Yeosang continued, braver. “I thought his death meant I could be free. It seemed that was a pipe dream. So, I ran away. I underestimated how little I knew of the Seoul landscape. I thought I could find somewhere to hide, but everything was so loud and bright. I got dizzy, and nobody even noticed me. For once, I believed I was invisible – and that’s what I had wanted, but still. I wasn’t free. I didn’t mean to end up where I did.”

“And Jongho?” Wooyoung spurred him on. Attentive, he leaned in to hear Yeosang clearer.

“It’s blurry when I reflect over it. At one point, I heard the screech of brakes, but I knew it was too late to move out of the way. My whole body froze. Somehow, though, like a flash of lightning, I was hurled aside. The impact had me think I was hit, to be honest. But then I made out this weight on top of my body. You know what the first thing Jongho said to me was?”

Wooyoung laughed softly. “He probably cursed at you.”

“Not quite. He said, _‘Why don’t pretty people know how to cross a simple road’_.” Yeosang recalled how the youngest’s breath ghosted the shell of his ear to make him shiver.

“Huh,” Wooyoung wondered, “seems uncanny of Jongho to introduce himself that way.”

“We were lucky that we got off with a few scrapes. The driver was fine, too, thankfully there were no collisions.” Yeosang looked to his hands. Wistfully, he added, “I think it was fate.”

“Fate?” Wooyoung inquired of the other, intrigued. “That you almost got knocked down?”

Yeosang groaned. “No, that I met Jongho like that. He made sure to accompany me to the hospital. We became friends afterwards, and I was still in contact with him when I moved fully up here. When I met with Yunho and San in my class, then, we all became a group. Seonghwa-hyung eventually caved to me when I pestered him to join in, too. His older brother and he attended school in the capital by that stage Then, Yunho brought Mingi along one night. It just so happened it was Mingi who knew Hongjoong-hyung, and from there--”

“—It was fate,” Wooyoung concluded on his behalf. “It was fate, right?”

Yeosang’s stomach churned at the indifference to Wooyoung’s voice. He took a few seconds to let his heartbeat settle, his nerves too vexed. “You didn’t let me finish. Wow.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. Blasé, he certified with, “Go ahead, then.”

“And we met you and the rest is history,” Yeosang closed the tale. Smug to the other’s huff.

“For someone so intelligent, you’re also dumb,” Wooyoung told him impassively.

Thrown off balance by the remark, Yeosang gaped at his friend. “Thanks?”

Wooyoung regarded him for a moment. He then explained himself, “I mean, you’re a genius. You underplay how much you are one. You’re meticulous. Receptive to new ideas. You’re more advanced than anyone I know to see things and figure out answers. On the other hand, you act like there’s something else that governs life. Destiny and fate, fairy tales and all.”

“You don’t believe it’s practical to be open to philosophy?” Yeosang argued, without heat.

“I get that it is an idea to you,” Wooyoung carefully weighed up, “and I see it’s nice to think we were meant to be. I can’t believe that, though. Because then, was every bad thing just part of fate? Was every day spent suffering the trade to the good times? It’s frustrating, really.”

Yeosang nodded.

He observed the sunset. The orange vibrancy saturated all in its way. Nature as its canvas. 

The passion for Wooyoung’s side was undeniable. The elder’s furtive determination held on.

“You don’t believe we were destined to meet?” He asked dully. Disappointed, even.

Wooyoung’s countenance was grim, and his words short. “I know we were not.”

...

**PRESENT**

Before, Yeosang was once part of a similar scene to the one he then resided in.

The only difference then was that he was older. A man, by the societal reckoning.

The adult he dreaded himself to become since realised.

It was a game of chess: The pieces were the same, the premise was rigid.

The players as the sole variable to the match at hand.

The consistency was predictable and favoured.

It made Yeosang think there was a graphic rendering of a rewinding noise to his given setting.

A seamlessly looped overlay for that glitch effect. It shaped his perspective. How he’d need only replace his face and he’d be but his father. The posture, the speech.

That was not his own nature. Instructions an echo, behaviour cemented.

All things existed as inseparable and contradictory opposites to Yeosang. The coldness of the chair against the stifling breeze. The crisp press of his collar in contrast to the coffee that burned his tongue. The familiarity of the faces, and the foreignness to their treatment of him.

And Yeosang can’t bring himself to really _feel_. If he felt, he’d lose. He wasn't quite sure what he has left to sacrifice. But fear is a powerful, inescapable control.

His expression stayed neutral. He should have heeded Wooyoung’s cynicism all those years ago. The disparagement stood correct.

How Yeosang existed to be but a flower, and the reality for him was to simply wilt.

Nothing miraculous or unforeseen. Yeosang’s life took no drastic turns. Everything neat, tidy. Fated.

To be born and educated well. Polished to be a charming son. Handsome and clever. That recipe to make him divine. Conscripted into the military at a stage later, returning nobly to helm the wheel of the business. Then, greying and honourable. Life was written in stone.

He and his father were the same. Generations and generations of nothing different. To be put to the brink of financial collapse but another becoming of Yeosang’s luck.

That was the biggest upset presumed of his life. The tides and turns of the business world meant that it was not exactly unexpected.

The extent of the crisis still one of the worst cases.

That multinational conglomerate with numerous affiliated business under its reaching brand. Threatened by relatives who were unhappy by the settlements they received of the income. The controversies put forward by them the beginnings of the blackmail they had stored.

Stocks dropped. Large-scale layoffs. Net worth fell and was falling still for all operations.

Yeosang’s mother once dismissed the concerns. The government played into the hands of their inner circle.

The legal world, the press, the academics and bureaucracy was _theirs_ , truly.

But the pressure and predictions meant they could not deny they had to devise a plan to protect their groups.

They needed to prove their confidence in strengthening themselves.

Yeosang normally strayed from partaking in meetings. His older sister tended to be more suited to the skillset in the role there.

His mother allowed him to concentrate on college. For his sake, she let him enjoy what stretch of youth he had before he’d be called upon by her.

It was a grave turn when she openly confided in him and requested his presence back to their reality.

Yeosang kept closed off about the catastrophic elements of what was happening.

But the weeks had not been kind, and he found himself in that unfortunate meeting. He knew that most of his friends wouldn’t be able to identify what was going on yet.

The public relation agents had doubled efforts to keep the cracks from being in the widespread media. Bribed the journalists to keep quiet.

Only those with direct connections heard the whispers on the wind of the issues. To him, that is, and to the model of the chaebol world.

Even though those closest to the surface in his family’s hold, no one came to understand what Yeosang eventually found himself to accept.

It broke a portion of him. That secrecy he kept. He wanted to apologise to San. The jealousy that spiked to see him in love, and in love freely. How the light died in the younger male’s eyes when Yeosang turned away at the beach.

 _You’re your father’s son._ How that compliment was an insult to him to breakdown.

“—The union will promise stability for the sites in Shenzhen and Seoul. It will be extremely beneficial to present public attention to the wedding arrangements. We are looking into—”

Yeosang zoned out. Each time he listened to the conversation; the dread resurged inside him.

He thought it funny how arranged marriages still existed. In the twenty-first century, unions of convenience at every catch.

The stuff of fiction, but all the more real for him. He hated his exorbitant suit. Hated the narrow layout of the room. Hated the manner in which the speaker enunciated his points. Hated the broiling season. Hated approximately everything.

Above all else, he hated himself.

His face would soon be plastered everywhere. Yeosang's presence would be more well-known on campus.

The Kang successor. The doors then open given his riveting, whirlwind romance with China's sweetheart.

Everyone would want him as the fresh press. The swarm of reporters would surely infiltrate the college to leech off photographing him. That was his future.

Yeosang stared up in time to see one board member looking toward him.

The smirk the man wore outright harked back to let Yeosang know he’d been aware of the rumours he faced.

The younger male didn’t rise to the bait.

 _Metathesiophobia_. He reasoned. That’s what made him sweat heavily.

Yeosang pictured San in fragmented portion. His friend held the key to unlock the insight into that condition most readily.

How San yielded to the pressure of keeping things the same.

Yeosang knew it clearer than before. People suspected an apocalypse was near. Incessantly, it chased after them.

To Yeosang, though, his outlook was far removed from that mindset. Their idea of a utopia was his dystopia.

At some point, the meeting adjourned. Talk levelled to a future conference.

The news already broke to privy reporters that Kang Yeosang had proposed to Cheng Xiao.

Yeosang heard the excited chatter of one pair as they made their exit. Heads joined together; they spoke in hushed voices over how the top trending topic was the confirmed couple.

Yeosang remained still. He’d never even met the woman he was to live in matrimony with.

The slate of uncertainty that enticed him came undone when someone tapped his shoulder.

“Why did you agree?” his sister groused. Much to Yeosang’s chagrin, she already settled her stance.

Hands-on hips, eyes akin to lasers with their beam. “You shouldn’t have agreed!”

The twinge in his head made it hard to be reasonable. Somehow, Yeosang shifted in his usual character. He identified it but put no stop against it. “It’s my decision, noona. Stay out of it.”

He thought he must have been possessed. The harsh incline of his words contingent. Ice in his veins. A stabbing force in that element.

His words had their desired effect. His sister, with a pained expression, left him alone. The slam of the door behind her discordant. Her reaction left Yeosang between two minds.

Whether or not he’d been right to try and drive her away from probing him. Her suspicion failed to frighten him to an actual confession that offered truth.

Lying was easy to him by then. He’d become so accustomed to it; he believed his own lies.

When he stood up, Yeosang swayed on the spot. The abrupt movement had his body retaliate. He groaned tiredly at that prospect. His entity no longer supple. Sitting for the day left him rigid. He wondered at what point his phone would be bombarded with reactions to the headlines. A capacity of him wanted forgiveness, to seek out their understanding.

More than that, Yeosang hoped the consequence would ensure Seonghwa hated him.

That dark hatred would consume the elder’s heart. Purge all affection he had for Yeosang.

Too selfish to fully let Seonghwa go when face-to-face. Yeosang was a coward. That trait of his all he had left then. Nothing else to know himself as.

His mother and sister needed him to be self-effacing. Them, and all those families who depended on the wage the conglomerate company gave.

The links far to encompass in all.

The chaebol world. Worth more than one poor soul could break away from in best efforts.

Afraid of wearing bright colours because it might draw attention to them. That was Yeosang.

Each stare and scorn burned into him; his skin littered with the scars. He would let them too many people if he backed down or neglected the problem at hand.

It was his duty to remain.

Still. If Yeosang allowed himself to be quixotic, he’d never stop. If he started to express his sentiments to who he held close, he’d run out of years of life.

Surely, his friends knew that.

He laughed at himself, there in silence. How the tears began when he imagined them. The betrayal they’d feel.

How mad they’d grow, how they wouldn’t let him slip away so easily.

He already warned the security to be prepared to face up against the males.

_“The youngest has a nasty right hook,” he informed them. “And Song Mingi doesn’t know when he’s lost. He’ll keep going, no matter how perilous it is. San is smart, so—"_

Yeosang closed his eyes. The weight of his reality upon him heaviest when alone.

 _I never planned on falling for you._ But he was sure that Seonghwa knew that. They’d always been wearied to where they’d finish. 

_I wish love was enough. I’m sorry, hyung. I love you._

But the nightmare he resided in didn’t loosen its power. Yeosang lingered there.

He dragged himself out of the building. The snippets of the congratulatory cheers bypassed with his swift dodges.

When he walked across to the night, the wind seemed more touching. The conditions were less kind.

Yeosang searched the sky above. He wanted the beauty to rectify the dull throb that the end of the day gave him.

Only, it made him reflect on what Seonghwa told him.

« _I’d like to live on a star. I don’t think I’d be alone because I can look down upon you. If I were upon that star and if I could shine my light to you. I hope you’d remember me._ »

All his life, Yeosang had searched for something he could reach. How stupid he’d been. There, he accepted it. He had to wait to have such dreams when asleep.

One stroke each night, to sketch the map drawn out. That was what wishes were.

He didn’t want to go home or anywhere in particular. Yeosang walked without any real destination in mind. Aimlessly moving through the streets. He knew how late the hour was. The shadows implied it enough. Lambency greeted him every step, where restaurants and bars encouraged patronage.

The multitudinous fronts furnished Yeosang’s path with light. It stirred in him the idea he had no choice but to keep going. He observed places he’d been conversant with. They stood differently in the crepuscule.

Yeosang saw a new side to all commonplace. Fresh prestidigitation by the obscured stars. He took two more strides. Braced himself in an attained privacy aside.

Then, Yeosang collapsed. A sob ripped from his throat.

It felt good to unshackle his emotions. The surrender to himself assuasive. The capital engrossed in livelihood more than his cause. He was glad.

Footsteps alarmed Yeosang to explore his proximity. The noise was hasty.

The origin of the clatter stepped into his view.

Yeosang gawked at them. Speechless. His whimpers halted.

The person pulled both hands inward with their palms faced inwardly and fingertips outward. They then opened their right hand out, that palm and those fingertips in the same prior state and extended the hand toward Yeosang.

A simple meaning to make sense of. Where all Yeosang’s fears became irrelevant. Their fog cleared.

« I got you. »

Yeosang shuddered. A rush of blood to the head came. The image of the moon swayed in his mind. The hammering of his heart all that made sense.

_“You’re smitten, Yeosang-ie. You and Seonghwa-hyung, really. It’s sickening to watch!”_

Seonghwa wore a tight smile. It slipped; appeared to be losing its confidence.

There, everything seemed too separated from them both. He largely believed he conjured up the older male. That exact position and appearance of the male too precious to be real to him.

Park Seonghwa was perfect.

Kang Yeosang was not.

Yeosang’s trembling form influenced Seonghwa to come closer. He seemed unsure of how to proceed. His glance darted between where Yeosang rested and the empty space between.

A question remained in his eyes. Yeosang stared at him. His own being rooted to be static. His body thrummed with a need. For Seonghwa. The male, a silhouette by the stars.

The answer to everything to Yeosang.

Yeosang skirted between having control and not. An insistence awoke within him, then. One where he needed to give in to the instinct. Give him his entire heart, after the indiscernible fight to reject that permission.

_Be free._

The younger male moved, as though in a haze. He inched to the other, his steps loud. Then, he moved both hands out. He cradled Seonghwa’s face, his grip unsteady but gentle.

He found himself begging, how he drew up everything of himself to offer up. A moment that continued for miles. 

Without thinking, Yeosang was swift to devour the other’s mouth. The sensation of the kiss like oxygen to him for its value to feeling alive.

He pulled back for a second to try to regain control before he realised that he didn’t want that.

His capacity to be that reputable entity extinguished.

Instead, Yeosang dived back in to recapture the touch. The world stopped, right there.

Seonghwa’s unconscious inhale in his mouth made Yeosang all the greedier.

Insatiable in their kiss, the younger male poured all the unfaltering emotions there.

 _I knew every moment was meant to be._ Yeosang yearned to tell Seonghwa, to spell it out.

The older male stiffened but, though he knew better, acted to reciprocate the action.

They both invested in mapping one another out. To that sweet relief of the pent-up desire.

It took another period of time until they succumbed to the need to separate. Their foreheads pressed together; they shared fast breaths. Those desperate pants of a surrender harsh and defiant in the night.

Swollen lips and warm cheeks. Had Yeosang not been in love, he’d have fallen for the older male all over again in that split second.

That war of hearts always a surrender.

Although Yeosang wanted to resume their prior activity, Seonghwa held him accountable to the reality they embarked on. The elder male looked heavenly, even with moist eyes and the uncertainty to his supplicated language. Fluid and tense, his facial features brought forward all he told to Yeosang with more gravity than anything else that could pin him down.

« Is it that easy to erase me? I don’t want to let this go. »

Yeosang needed to tell him, then. _We weren’t meant for each other._

No matter how much he reasoned to himself, the Pohang-native could not deliver that verdict. There were obstacles, more than Yeosang could even imagine.

Everything about them signified an impossibility to be safe. They couldn’t be, because no one would let them be.

Yet, Yeosang loved him. He loved him desperately, and in devastation. He was but a ruin to the exertion those feelings held over his entity.

_But it’s fine._

_It’s fine._

_It’s..._

He crashed in computation to that next insight. Every single part of him refused to deny himself.

Yeosang couldn’t bring himself to admit to the other the extent of all things.

_Life is a series of greetings and farewells._

_Did we come full circle already?_

The light-haired male didn’t know how to read the minds of others and still, somehow, he knew Seonghwa’s thought process in excruciating detail. The closure was ideal, almost.

Yeosang realised that the elder took their kiss to be their last.

Every aspect of his psyche alerted to how Seonghwa’s face revealed his confliction, longing and heartbreak together.

He spent enough time recording each indication of those features to understand every flicker.

With his right palm, the older male swiped down from his left wrist. He proceeded to glide over the fingers of that hand. Then, he clenched both of his fists with more force than would be required to the meaning. He lowered the fists in front of his chest faced down.

Yeosang watched.

Stupefied. In his vision, he saw it as Seonghwa turned to leave.

And the worst part to it was simple: Yeosang needed to let him go.

It burned inside. His senses overloaded. His mind in utter disarray with all left unfinished. His internal voice screaming profanities at himself to run to catch onto the male’s arm.

Seonghwa disappeared into the shadows, and Yeosang did not follow him.

It might have been minutes. Maybe upwards of an hour, or two. Yeosang did not know. He cared in that tangibility of zero.

It took whatever unknown length of time before the male went to his home.

Yeosang dwelled hard at that stage. His movements jerky in trying to find his path back toward the house. He didn’t even know if he inhabited his body any longer.

Maybe, if their world changed things would be alright. The idea swirled and pulsed through. Plenty of different maybes could’ve transformed them into a together over an apart.

Downtrodden. Yeosang nursed a breakup and celebrated an engagement simultaneously. The promises that shouldn't have been exchanged took that future away.

They tormented Yeosang in that break of his lonesomeness. Teased him with how they fell apart.

Yeosang obtained everything wanted. Despite that, the void pestered. It grew exponentially.

After a time, between those minutes and hours, tears neither of weakness nor regret came.

Yeosang stared at the empty streets. Tall buildings and the dark sky hung above him.

There, he decided. Love was just an illusion.

_If there’s a world without existence itself, I wish I could find it._

_..._


End file.
